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Music Library

BOOKS BY JAMES HUNEKER

Published BT CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

The Pathos of Distance. 12mo.

(Postage extra) net, $2 00

Franz Liszt. Illustrated. ]2mo, . net, t2. 00

Promenades of an Imfwesiioniit. 12mo.

net, $1.60

Egoists: A Book of Supermen. 12mo, net, $1.50

Iconoclasts; A Book of Dramatists. 12mo,

net, $1.50

Overtones: A Book of Temperaments.
12mo net. $1.50

Mezzotints in Modern Music. 12mo, net, $1.50

Cliopin: The Man and His Music. With
Portrait. 12mo, .... net^ $2.00

Visionaries. 12mo, . . . net, $1.50

Melomaniacs. 12mo, net, $1.50

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN
MUSIC

MEZZOTINTS
IN MODERN MUSIC

BRAHMS, TSCHAIKOWSKY, CHOPIN

RICHARD STRAUSS, LISZT

AND WAGNER

JAMES HUNEKER

FIFTH EDITION

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNERS SONS

1913

Bv CHARLES SCRIBI

Mi-CO
!<? 13

SSircttonateIg InsaAeH

HENRY EDWARD KREHBIEL

CONTENTS

Pagi

L The Music of the Future i

II. A Modern Music Lord 8i

III. Richard Strauss and Nietzsche . • • • 141

IV. The Greater Chopin 160

V. A Liszt £tud£ 224

VI. The Royal Road to Parnassus . • • • 240

VII. A Note on Richard Wagner 285

INDEX 299

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

The death of Johannes Brahms in 1897
removed from the sparsely settled land of
music the last of the immortals ; the one whom
Billow justly ranked with Bach and Beethoven ;
the one upon whom Schumann lavished both
praise and prophecy. Not by any wrench of
the imagination can we conjure the name of
Antonin Dvordk, despite his delightful gift
of saying natve and Slavic things ; not by any
excess of sentiment can we dower Italy's grand
old man Verdi with the title, nor yet France's
favorite son, Saint-Saens; not any one nor
all of these three varying talents can be com-
pared to the great, virile man who died in
Vienna, the city of his preference but not of
his birth.

When the printed list of Brahms' achieve-
ments in song, sonata, symphony and choral
works of vast proportions is placed before
you, amazement at the slow, patient, extra-
ordinary fertility and versatility of the man
seizes upon you. It is not alone that he wrote
< I

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

lour symphonies of surpassing merit, two piano
concertos, a violin concerto, a double concerto
for violin and violoncello, songs, piano pieces,
great set compositions like the Song of Des-
tiny and the German Requiem, duos, trios,
quartets, quintets, sextets, sestets, all manner
of combinations for wood, for wind, for strings
and voices ; it is the sum total of high excel-
lence, the stern, unyielding adherence to ideals
sometimes almost frostily unhuman — in a
word, the logical, consistent and philosophic
bent of the man's mind — that forces your
homage. For half a century he pursued the
beautiful in its most elusive and difficult form ;
pursued it when the fashions of the hour, day
and year mocked at such wholesale, undevi-
ating devotion, when form was called old-fash-
ioned, sobriety voted dull, and the footlights
had invaded music's realm and menaced it in
its very stronghold — the symphony.

When a complete life of Johannes Brahms
is written, this trait of fidelity, this marvellous
spiritual obstinacy of the man will be lovingly
dealt with. There seems to be a notion
abroad that because Brahms refused to chal-
lenge current tendencies in art and literature
he held himself aloof, was remote from hu-
manity, was a bonze of art, a Brahmin, and
not a bard chanting its full-blooded wants and

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

woes with full throat. Nothing could be wider
of the truth. Brahms' music throbs with hu-
manity ; with the rich red blood of mankind.
He was the greatest contrapuntist after Bach»
the greatest architectonist after Beethoven,
but in his songs he was as simple, as manly,
as tender as Robert Burns. His topmost peaks
are tremendously remote, and glitter and
gleam in an atmosphere almost too thin for
dwellers of the plains ; but how intimate, how
full of charm, of graciousness are the happy
moments in his chamber music !

It is not rashly premature for us to assign to
Brahms a place among the immortals. Com-
ing after the last of the most belated roman-
ticists, untouched by the fever for the theatre,
a realist with great imagination, both a classi-
cist and a romanticist, he led music back in her
proper channels by showing that a phenome-
nal sense of form and a mastery of polyphony
second only to Bach are not incompatible
with progress, with the faculty of uttering
new things in a new way. Brahms is not a
reactionary any more than is Richard Wagner.
Neither of these men found what he needed,
so one harked back to Gluck and the Greeks,
the other to Bach and Beethoven. Consider
the massiveness of Brahms' tonal architec-
ture; consider those structures erected after

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

years of toil ; regard the man's enormous fer-
tility of ideas ; enormous patience in develop-
ing them; consider the ease with which he
moves shackled by the most difficult forms —
not assumed for the mere sake of the difficult,
but because it was the only form in which he
could successfully express himself — consider
the leavening genius, the active geniality of
the man, which militates against pedantry,
the dryness of scholasticism and the mere
arithmetical music of the kapellmeister ; con-
sider the powerful, emotional and intellectual
brain of this composer, and then realize that all
great works in art are the arduous victories of
great minds over great imaginations ! Brahms
ever consciously schooled his imagination.

Brahms was Brahms' greatest critic. He
worked slowly, he produced slowly and, being
of the contemplative rather than the active
and dramatic type, he incurred the reproach
of being phlegmatic, Teutonic, heavy and
thick. There is enough sediment in his col-
lected works to give the color of truth to this
allegation, but from the richness and the
cloudiness of the ferment, is thrown off the
finest wine ; and how fine, how incomparably
noble is a draught of this wine after the thin,
acid, frothing and bubbling stuff concocted at
every season's musical vintage 1

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

Brahms reminds one of those mediaeval
architects whose life was a prayer in marble ;
who slowly and assiduously erected cathedrals,
the mighty abutments of which flanked majes-
tically upon mother earth, and whose thin,
high pinnacles pierced the blue ; whose domes
hung suspended between heaven and earth,
and in whose nave an army could worship,
while in the forest of arches music came and
went like the voices of many waters.

He was a living reproach to the haste of a
superficial generation. Whatever he wrought
he wrought in bronze and for time, not for the
hour. He restored to music its feeling for
form. He was the greatest symphonist in
the constructive sense since Beethoven. He
did not fill it with a romantic content as did
Schumann, but he never defaced or distorted
its flowing contours. Not so great a colorist
as Schumann or Berlioz, he was the greatest
master of pure line that ever lived. He is
accused of not scoring happily. The accusa-
tion is true. Brahms does not display the
same gracious sense of voicing the needs and
capabilities of every orchestral instrument as
have Berlioz, Dvordk and Strauss. He is often
very muddy, drab and opaque, but his nobility
of utterance, his remarkable eloquence and
ingenuity in treatment make you forget his

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

shortcomings in color. But in writing for
choral masses, for combinations, such as clari-
net and strings, piano, violin and 'cello, or
for piano solo, he had few masters. There
seems to be a perverse vein in his handling of
orchestral color. He gives you the impres-
sion of mastery, but writes as if to him the
garb, the vestment were naught, and the pure,
sweet flesh and form, all.

Brahms had his metaphysical moments
when he wrestled with the pure idea as specu-
latively as a Pascal or a Spinoza. There are
minutes in his music when he becomes the
purely contemplative mind surveying the
nave of the universe ; when Giotto's circle is
for him an " O Altitudo." It cannot be said,
then that Brahms the philosopher, the utterer
of cryptic tones, is as interesting as Brahms
the composer of the second and third sym-
phonies, the composer of the F minor piano
sonata, the F minor piano quintet, the creator
of the Schicksalslied, the German Requiem
or those exquisite and fragrant flowers, the
songs.

Brahms is the first composer since Bee-
thoven to sound the note of the sublime. He
has been called austere for this. He has sub-
limity at times; something that Schumann,
Rubinstein, Raff or TschaXkowsky never quite

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

compassed. To this is allied that forbidding
quality, that want of commonplace sympathy,
that lack of personal profile which make his
music very often disliked by critic, amateur
and professional. He would never make any
concessions to popularity ; indeed, like Henrik
Ibsen, he often goes out of his way to dis-
please! The facile, cheap triumph he de-
spises; he sees all Europe covered with
second and third rate men in music, and he
notes that they please ; their only excuse for
living is to give cheap pleasure.

This, and the naturally serious bent of the
man, superinduced excessive puritanism. It
is a sign of his great culture and flexible
mental operations that he grew to study and
admire Wagner toward the close of his hard-
working life.

Brahms' workmanship is almost impeccable.
His mastery of material is as great as Bee-
thoven's and only outstripped by Bach. I
have dwelt sufficiently upon his formal and
contrapuntal sense. His contribution to the
technics of rhythm is enormous. He has
literally popularized the cross-relation, re-
discovered the arpeggio and elevated it from
the lowly position of an accompanying figure
to an integer of the melodic phrase. Wagner
did the same for the essential turn.

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

A pure musician, a maker of absolute
musicy a man of poetic ideals, is Brahms,
without thrusting himself forward in the con-
temporary canvas. Not Berlioz, not Wagner,
but the plodding genius Brahms, was elected
by destiny to receive upon his shoulders the
mantle dropped by Beethoven as he ascended
the slope to Parnassus, and the shoulders
were broad enough to bear the imposing
weight.

They are fast becoming sheeted dead, these
great few left us. Who shall fill Wagner's
tribune ; who shall carve from the harmonic
granite imperishable shapes of beauty as did
Johannes Brahms?

With the death of the master the time has
come for an extended and careful investiga-
tion of the piano sonatas, the rhapsodies, the
intermezzi, the capriccios, the fantasias, the
ballades and all the smaller and curious forms
left us; a collection, let me preface by de-
claring, that is more significant and more
original than any music since Chopin. Now
that I have sounded the challenge I must at
once proceed to attenuate it by making some

qualifications and one explanation. Brahms

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

occupies an unsought for and rather unpleas-
ant position in the history of contemporary
music. Without his consent he was cham-
pioned as an adversary of Wagner, and I
believe Eduard Hanslick, most brilliant of
critics, had something to do with this false
attitude. Hanslick hated Wagner and adored
Brahtns. There you have it; and presently
the silly spectacle was observed of two men
of straw being pitted one against the other
and all musical Europe drawn into a quar-
rel as absurd as the difference between
tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee. Wagner and
Brahms are the very antipodes of art, and let
it be said most forcibly that art contains easily
without violence the various music of two such
great artists, although some critics differ from
me in this.

Wagner was a great fresco painter, handling
his brush with furious energy, magnificence
and dramatic intensity. Beside his vast, his
tremendous scenery, the music of Brahms is
all brown, all gray, all darkness, and often
small. It is not imposing in the operatic
sense, and it reaches results in a vast, slow,
even cold blooded manner, compared with
the reckless haste of Richard of the Foot-
lights. One is all showy externalization, a
seeker after immediate and sensuous effects;

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

the other, one of those reserved, self-contained
men who feels deeply and watches and waits.
In a word, Wagner is a composer for the
theatre, with all that the theatre implies, and
sought to divert — and nearly succeeded —
the tide of music into theatrical channels.

Brahms is for the concert room, a sympho-
nist, a song writer and, above all, a German.
I wish to emphasize this point of nationality.
Wagner was the Celt, with a dash of the
Oriental in his blood, and he bubbled and
foamed over with primal power, but it was
not the reticent, grave power of the Teuton,
who, as Amiel puts it, gathers fuel for the
pile and allows the French to kindle it.
Whether it was Wagner's early residence in
Paris, or perhaps some determining pre-natal
influence, he surely had a vivacity, an esprit,
imagination and a grace denied to most of
his countrymen, Heine excepted. You may
look for these qualities in Brahms, but they
are rarely encountered. Sobriety, earnest-
ness, an intensity that is like the blow of a
steam hammer, and a rich, informing spirit
are present, and undoubted temperament also,
but as there are temperaments and tempera-
ments, so the temperament of Brahms differs
from the temperament of Wagner, the tem-
perament of Chopin and the temperament of

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

Liszt. There is a remoteness, a sense of
distance in his music that only long pursued
study partially dissipates. He is a chilly
friend at first, but the clasp of the hand is
true, if it is not always charmful. I find the
same difficulty in Beethoven, in Ibsen, in Gus-
tave Flaubert, and sometimes in Browning,
but never in Schumann and never in Schubert
As Emerson said of Walt Whitman, there must
have been a " long foreground somewhere "
to the man, and that foreground is never
wholly traversed with Brahms.

You will ask me what is there then so fas-
cinating in this austere, self-centred man,
whose music at first hearing suggests both a
latter-day Bach and a latter-day Beethoven ?

The answer is simply this: Brahms is a
profound thinker ; his chilliness is in manner,
not matter ; he is a thinker, but he also feels
sincerely, deeply, and maybe, as Ehlert says,
feels with his head and thinks with his heart.
He is hardly likely to become popular in this
generation, yet he is a very great artist and
a great composer. Von Biilow was enjoying
a little of his perverse humor when he spoke
of the three Bs. Brahms is not knee-high to
Bach or Beethoven, yet he is their direct
descendant, is of their classic lineage, although
a belated romanticist, and the only man we

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

see fit to mention after the two kings of the
tone art.

This does not mean that Schumann, Ber-
lioz, TschaYkowsky, Liszt, Wagner and the
rest are not as great, or even greater, but
simply that certain immutable and ineluctable
laws of art are understood by Brahms, who
prefers to widen in his own fashion the beaten
path rather than conquer new ones.

In 1853 Schumann wrote his New Paths,
and Brahms became known. Schumann had
doubtless certain affinities with the young man
of twenty, and he also recognized his strange
ness, for in the first bar of Brahms you
are conscious of something new, something
strange. It is not in the form, not in the idea,
not in the modulation, rhythmical change,
curve of harmonic line, curve of melodic line,
yet it is in all these that there lurks some-
thing new, something individual. This same
individuality caused Schumann to rub his eyes
when he heard the C major sonata, and made
Liszt grow enthusiastic when he read the
scherzo in E flat minor.

I quite agree with Spitta that it is a mistake
to suppose that Brahms worked altogether on
the lines of Bach, Beethoven, Mozart and
Schumann. I called him a belated roman-
ticist a moment ago because much of the

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

content of his music is romantic, and in his
latter days excessively modern. It is be-
cause of his adherence to classic forms, and his
harking back to the methods of the sixteenth
century, that the music of Brahms so often
misleads both critic and public. Spitta di-
lates most admirably upon the richness and
variety of his tonality, by his reversion to
almost forgotten manners and modes; the
Doric, his characteristic use of the octave,
the sharpening of minor thirds and sixths, his
remarkable employment of the chord of the
sixth, sharp transitions in modulation, the
revival of playing common time against triple
time, and the use of rhythms and tonalities
that are vague, indeterminate and almost
misleading, without damage to the structural
values and beauty of the music.

Then in form Brahms knows the canon
as no other composer. Listen to Spitta:
" Schumann had already seriously studied
and revised the canon, which had sunk to
the level of an amusing exercise; Brahms
interested himself in its stricter construction
and used it in a greater variety of forms.
The extension and diminution of the melody
again — that is to say, the lengthening of the
strain by doubling the value of the notes, or
shortening it by diminishing their valuCi

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

which was such an important element of form
in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, came
to light again for the first time with all its
innate musical vitality when Brahms took it
up, and even in his earliest works (for in-
stance, op. 3, no. 2) showed how thoroughly
he understood it. The same is to be said
of the method of inversion, the derivation
of a new melody from the former by revers-
ing the intervals. When the use of such
'artifices' — as they were called with an amaz-
ing misapprehension of the very essence of
music — had from time to time been ad-
mitted, they had always been restricted to
what was termed a * Gelehrten Satz ' ; that is
to say, they were worked out as school exer-
cises and formed no part of the artist's living
work. But with Brahms they pervade all his
music, and find a place as much in the piano
sonata and the simple ballad as in the grand
choral pieces with orchestral accompaniments.

"The basso ostinato, with the styles per-
taining to it — the Passacaglia and the Cia-
cona — resume their significance for the
first time since Bach's time, and their intrin-
sic importance is enhanced by the support
of the symphonic orchestra."

And with all this, as Ehlert truly says,
" Brahms' art undoubtedly rests upon the

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

golden background of Bach's purity and
concentration."

I know it may be questioned whether
Brahms belongs to the romantic camp, but
while he has absorbed with giant-like ease
the individualization of voices and the se-
verity of Bach, yet he is a modern among
moderns. How modern, you will discover
if you play first the early music of Schumann,
or the music of Chopin's middle period, and
then take up the B minor rhapsody or some
of the later fantasias. Brahms then seems so
near, so intimate, so full of vitality, while the
romantic music has a flavor of the rococo,
of the perfume of the salon, of that stale
and morbid and extravagant time when the
classics were defied and Berlioz thought to be
a bigger man than Beethoven. But all passes,
and time has left us of Schumann's piano
music, the Symphonic Variations, the F
sharp minor and the F minor sonatas, the
fantasy in C and the concerto, while the
mists are slowly enveloping most of Chopin's
earlier music. Doubtless the studies, pre-
ludes, the F minor fantasy, one polonaise,
the barcarolle, the F minor ballade, the C
sharp minor and the B minor scherzi will live
forever, and I am not so sure that I could
predict the same of the piano music of Brahms,

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

However, escape this fact we cannot : Brahms
is our most modern music maker, and if, as
Edward MacDowell says, TschaTkowsky's
music always sounds better than it is, the
music of Brahms is often better than it
sounds !

Now I have made all of my qualifications,
and my single explanation is this : I am not
a reckless Brahms worshipper. There is
much in his music that repels, and I have
often studied his piano with knitted brow.
After the exquisite, poetic tenderness of
Chopin, the overflowing romance of Schu-
mann, the adorable melody of Schubert, and
the proud pose of Weber — who prances by
you on gayly and gorgeously caparisoned
arpeggios — Brahms may sound cold, formal,
and much of the mathematician, but strip
him of his harsh rind, taste the sweetness,
the richness, the manliness of the fruit and
you will grow enthusiastic.

It would be easy and it would look im-
posing for me to map out three styles in
Brahms, as De Lenz did with the piano
sonatas of Beethoven. But it would be
manifestly absurd, for as much as Brahms
gained in mastery and variety in his later
years, yet he was more Brahms in his
op. I than was Chopin in his op. 2 — the

i6^

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

famous La Ci Dareir, the variations that
led Schumann to his famous discovery.
Take, for instance, the E flat minor scherzo,
so different from Chopin's glorious one in
the same key in the B flat minor sonata.
This scherzo of Brahms is an op. 4, and he
played it for Schumann during the historical
visit to Diisseldorf. It has in it something of
Chopin, more in color than idea, and it is so
free, so flowing, so plastic, so happily worked
out, that it must have come upon Liszt and
Schumann as something absolutely new. Yet
I And it old-fashioned compared to his op.
116 or 117 or 118 or 119. Even the rhapso-
dies strike a new note, so I may without im-
propriety, and I hope without pedantry, make
a general division of his piano music into two
groups. In the flrst I include the three so*
natas, the scherzo — which is a separate opus
— the variations, the four ballades, and the
Walzer, op. 39. There is then a skip to op.
76 before we encounter solo music, and here
I begin my second group with the eight ca-
priccios and intermezzi. Then follow the two
rhapsodies, and until op. 116 we encounter
no piano soli. With op. 1 19 Brahms' contri-
butions to piano literature end. The two
books of technical studies, fifty-one in all,
will be considered, as will the Hungarian
1 17

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

dances, arranged by the composer from the
orchestral partition.

This grouping is purely arbitrary, and I
warn you that the composer cannot be
pinned down to any such cataloguing, for
we find in his second sonata, the one in F
sharp minor, stuff that is kin to his latest
works and in some of his new fantasies a
reversion to the Brahms of the Ballades.

Regarding his technics I can only recom-
mend to you a close study of the music.
There is much that is unusual side by side
with the most trite patterns. He has a
special technic, sudden extensions, he is fond
of tenths and twelfths — the interlocking — for
instance, in the capriccio in D minor with its
devilish rhythms and cross accent, and the
spreading of the triplet over two bars of
three-four time — the rapid flights in chord
playing^ all these things require a firm seat
in the saddle, hands with ten well individu-
alized voices and a light wrist. The best
preparation for Brahms is Bach, then the
toccata of Schumann, and then the Brahms
studies. There are scales in Brahms' music,
but not many. His passage work is of the
most solid character, broken chords, double
notes, especially thirds and sixths, and few
arpeggios. The triolen he has idealized as

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

did Wagner the essential turn, and his accom-
paniment figures are always simple, indeed
vital parts of the composition. Brahms is
not a great original melodist. Like Schu-
mann his melodies can hardly be divorced
from his harmonies. He had his moments
of ecstatic lyrism, and I can show you many
specimens of perfect melodies in his piano
music. He is not always gloomy, forbidding,
cross-grained and morbid. Take the first
movement of the D major symphony, the
slow movement of the F minor sonata, some
of the songs, the horn trio, and tell me if
this man cannot unbend the bow, say lovely,
gracious things and be even nimble of wit
and of gait?

Regarding Brahms* muddy orchestration,
this is a question I leave to my betters.
Scored in the high, violent purples and
screaming scarlets of Richard Strauss, the
grave, reflective, philosophic accents of the C
minor and E minor symphonies would be as
foolishly attired as Socrates the day Plato
insisted upon his donning the fashionable
costume of Athens' gayest youth.

Touching the muddiness and heaviness of
the doubled basses of the piano music, I may
say that it is a matter of taste. Some pianists,
indeed some musicians, do not care for a

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

broad foundational bass. The arpeggio fig-
ure in the left hand has been worked to
death, and it is a relief to find Brahms mak-
ing his accompaniment figures an integer of
the piece itself.

He has dealt the death blow to the tyranny
of virtuoso passage work. No composer dare
follow him and expect to build up, to advance,
who employs passage work for the sake of
mere display of the desire to dazzle. Every
note of Brahms belongs to the framework, to
the musical scheme. He is more Hellenic
than Mozart in his supreme economy, and not
even Beethoven is more devoted to formal
beauty. He has not much sense of humor,
and the scherzi, while not being as ironical or
as brilliant as Chopin's, are none the less mis-
nomers. In his working-out sections the
marvellously inventive and logical brain of
Brahms is seen at its culminating splendor.
As free in his durchfiihrungsatz as the wind,
he has emancipated the sonata form in the
matter of tonality and in the matter of emo-
tional content. Excepting Chopin and Wag-
ner, no composer has ever exhibited such
versatility in the choice of keys. His use of
mixed scales — a result of his studies in
Hungarian music — gives his music its in-
tensely foreign coloring. There you have

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

Brahms, a German, a follower of Bach and
Beethoven as regards polyphony and form, a
reticent romanticist and a lover of certain
colorings that I call foreign, because they are
certainly not European. He has appropriated
the Magyar spirit with infinitely more success
than Liszt — take the last movement of the B
flat major concerto — and when I say Magyar
I mean almost Asiatic.

Brahms has in the piano concerto freed the
form forever, while writing within the limits of
that form. His two concertos are concertos,
not rhapsodies and fantasies, and the solo
instrument, instead of being a brilliant but
loquacious gabbler of glittering platitudinous
passage work, is now the expounder of the
musical idea and the stanch ally of the
orchestra.

Despite his vast knowledge, an almost mag-
ical erudition, there is a certain looseness and
want of finish about Brahms that is refreshing
in these days of Art for Art's sake and the
apotheosis of the cameo cutter. He is never
a little master, although he can work exceed-
ing fine and juggle for you by the hour the
most gorgeous balls of bitter-sweet virtuosity.
He is not, I say, always the pedant, and he
can be as dull as ditch water two times out of
ten. He has his feminine side — his songs—

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

but in the main he is a muscular male, not
given to over-expansion and not always com-
panionable.

I agree with Mr. Edgar Kelley that his
music \s not always klaviermassig, but the
same objection was urged against Beethoven,
Schumann and even Chopin ! I prefer a
granitic bass, although the doubling is not
always agreeable. But Schumann and Chopin
were sinners in this respect, especially the
former. That is why I recommend the great
toccata in C as a preliminary study to Brahms.
To sincere antagonists of Brahms, such as
Mr. Henry T. Finck, I can only say that not
every poet is to one's taste. Browning's
Sordello is crabbed music after Tennyson,
and Swinburne cloying, after Matthew Arnold
or Arthur Hugh Clough. But the inner, the
spiritual ear is longer enamored of the har-
monies of a Brahms or Bach than of the
sonorous splendors of Wagner or Verdi. It
is the still, small voice discerned in a Brahms
adagio or a Chopin prelude that abides by us
and consoles when the music of the theatre
seems superficial and garish. Those who do
not care for Brahms — let them choose their
own musical diet. There are, however, some
of us who prefer his lean to other composers'
fat. The light that beats about his throne is

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

a trifle dry at times, but it is at least white,
and the time comes to all when the chromatic
ceases to make thrall, and line, not color,
seems the more beautiful. Therefore, do not
follow me further if you are a genuine anti-
Brahmsianer. You might hear unpalatable
truths.

Brahms must have been completely worn
out when he presented his credentials to
Schumann one memorable October morning
in 1853. He had walked part of the way to
Diisseldorf because his money was gone, and
not being of Heinrich Heine's mercurial tem-
perament, he probably did not think of the
witty poet's ** fine plums between Jena and
Weimar," but to Schumann's questioning,
answered by playing the C major sonata, his
op. I.

Little wonder Schumann, great artist and
great critic, should have declared of it that it
was " music the like of which he had never
heard before," and proclaimed the shy, awk-
ward youth a master. It was enough to turn
the head of anyone but a Brahms, who had
just played at Weimar. Through Liszt's
golden generosity the young man played in

«3

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

concert his op. 4, the scherzo in E flat minor,
which Liszt praised warmly, and its romantic
flush and passion caused Brahms' name to be
added as a strong, promising one to the
revolutionary and romantic party.

We heard Von Biilow interpret the sonata
in C when he played here last. It is a ster-
ling work, clearly, forcibly presented, the key-
note of the opening movement being virile
determination. Here was a young giant who
delighted in wrestling with his material^ who
enjoyed its very manipulation. You can see
the big musjcles in his broad back bulge out
to the bursting point, for the task he had set
himself was no facile one. Nurtured on Bach
and Beethoven, the new music-maker started
out full of the ideals of these two masters, and
you are not surprised by the strong and
strange resemblance to Beethoven's op. 106,
the Hammer-Klavier sonata in B flat. This
resemblance is more than rhythmic, but it
stops after the enunciation of the first subject,
for following a subsidiary the lyric theme is
surely Brahms', while the working-out section,
which begins with the use of the second
theme, is simply extraordinary for a beginner.
It reveals all the devices of counterpoint used
in the freest fashion, and doubtless led Schu-
mann to class the composer as a romanticist,

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

for learning never moved about with such airy
fantasy. Doubtless, too, Schumann's mono-
phonic sins rose before him in the presence
of this genial polyphony. Just compare the
Abegg variations with the slow movement of
this sonata and you may realize the superior
educational advantages enjoyed by Brahms.

The andante is built on the theme of an old
German Minnelied, the words of which begin
so : ** Verstohlen geht der Mond, blau, blau,
Bliimelein." The lefl hand sounds eight single
tones : then both hands, imitating the chorus,
play in transparent four-part harmony. The
effect IS simplicity itself and seems to up-
spring from the very soil of the Fatherland ;
Brahms takes his subject and treats it with
sweet reticence, even to the coda, one of his
most charming. The scherzo leaps boldly
into the middle of things, a habit of Brahms,
and is Beethovian in its economy of material
and sharply defined outlines. The trio is very
melodious; the whole movement impresses
you as the work of a musical thinker. The
finale in strict form interests me less, al-
though there is a characteristic song theme.
The entire sonata overflows with vigor and
imagination.

The second sonata, op. 2, in F sharp minor,
brings us from the study chamber to more

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

stirring life. The design of the first move-
ment is large. We get the first touch of the
grand manner — and Brahms is genuinely
dramatic, the drama of the physical plane as
well as of the psychical. There can be no
mistaking the accents of the introduction,
with its well sustained element of suspense,
its skips — a familiar feature in the Brahms
piano music — and the thundering octaves.
Here is virtuosity in plenty for. you in the
first two pages, and if after playing pages
three and four you find Brahms deficient in
romantic warmth, then let us unclasp hands
and seek you some well-footed byway.

This second theme is nobility itself, and
written in full chords ; the harmonies are not
so dispersed as you might imagine ; the effect
is sonorous and beautiful ; of darkness there
is none, and the clarity of the design is ad-
mirable. The polyphonic branches of this
great trunk are finely etched against a dra-
matic background, and this most energetic
of allegros has no savor of Schumann's sonata
in the same key; and yet the temptation
to imitate must have been well-nigh irre-
sistible to a neophyte. The very key color
might tempt even the most strong headed,
but Brahms was too prepossessed with his
own thoughts, and so we get a movement

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

that is a great step in advance over the first
sonata.

Both the second and third movements are
built on the same thematic idea, an extremely
simple one of four notes, B, C, D, A sharp,
with an answer. The key is B minor. The
scherzo is extremely ingenious. The trio is
in D, and abounds in harmonic and rhythmic
variety. The last movement actually contains
in the introduction a scale run. The move-
ment itself reminds me, but in an odd, per-
verted way, of the second movement of
Beethoven's sonata, op. 90, in E minor. The
finale contains a big climax, also in scales that
look very un-Brahmsian. This sonata in F
sharp minor is much more significant than its
predecessor.

When you have reached the third sonata
in F minor, op. 5, the broad, far-reaching
uplands of the composer's genius are clearly
discerned, for his two earlier efforts in the
sonata form, despite their mastery of technics
of form, still remain grounded on the territory
of Beethoven and even of Schumann. But in
the third sonata we are impressed by a cer-
tain passionate grandeur and originality of
utterance, a freedom and elasticity of move-
ment, a more nervous fibre, a deeper feeling,
a deeper fire. I consider — and remember

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

that my single opinion is nothing as compared
to the number of them that believe the same
— that in the F minor sonata the most beau-
tiful in the genius of Brahms has flowered.
The first allegro is heaven-storming, the sec-
ond theme, oh ! so like the master at his best,
while page after page unrolls for us the warp
and woof of the most logical musical imagina-
tion since Bach. Brahms not a melodist!
Read that first movement, and if that does
not convince you, play the andante in A flat,
£he most exquisite lyrical thing he has ever
penned for piano. Its motto is from Ster-
nau, " Der Abend dammert, das Mondlicht
scheint," and the picture is magical in its
tender beauty and suggestiveness. It harks
back to the old world romance, to some
moonlit dell, wherein love hovers for a night,
and about all is the mystery of sky and wood.
Take the poco piu lento, in four-sixteenth
time, with its recurring sixths, divided so
amorously for two hands ; with any one else
but Brahms this well used interval would be
banal, but he knows its possibilities and the
entire section with the timid-sweet chords of
the tenth evokes a mood seldom met with.
Moonlight may be hinted at, as in the middle
part, the trio of Chopin's scherzo in B minor.
Here is an analogous picture. The coda has

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

always brought back to me Hans Sachs*
*• Dem Vogel der heut' sang/' Yes, Brahms
knew his Wagner, too, and no doubt would
have laughed in his gnomic beard if you had
mentioned the mood-resemblance. , Moriz
Moszkowski has also seized the same idea, for
in his Momen Musicale in C sharp minor he
has for a second subject this identical one.
It comes originally from Schumann's song,
Sonntags am Rhein. The resemblance to the
Meistersinger lies principally in the third bar
of this coda in the upward inflection. Brahms
has treated the entire movement with unsur-
passable poetry. In the scherzo which follows
he is at his best; a certain grim, diabolic
humor being hurled at you as if some being,
ambuscaded in Parnassus, took pleasure in
showering heavy masses of metal on your
unprotected head. The tempo suggests the
valse, but an epical valse. This is the great-
est scherzo ever composed by Brahms, and
the trio takes us back to Beethoven.

In the intermezzo — the Riickblick — the
resemblance to Mendelssohn has not escaped
Mr. FuUer-Maitland. It is in the key of B
flat minor, and is a far-off echo, as if heard
through sad, falling waters, of the theme of
the andante. The bass is naught else — and
this no writer has dared or perhaps thought

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

necessary to notice — than the Funeral March
from Mendelssohn's Songs Without Words.
The familiar triplet in thirty-second notes em-
phasizes the similarity, but what a vast distance
there \\ in this tragic page, full of veiled
suffering, and the pretty and elegiac march of
Mendelssohn !

The finale is strong and full of character-
istic agitation. The technics throughout are
Beethoven's, but a latter day Beethoven.
Heavy chord work, no scales, passages,
extreme clearness and plenty of involved
rhythms. The character of this sonata is
lofty, not altogether serene, but the strong,
self-contained soul is there; it is music for
men of strong nerves and big hearts, and not
for the sick or shallow brained.

There is a piano sonata arranged from the
sextet in B flat for strings. It is not the
arrangement of Brahms, but by Robert Kel-
ler, and is not difHcult. It is chiefly interest-
ing because of its being an agreeable and
available score of the famous chamber music.

The scherzo in E flat minor is a separate
opus — four in the published list. Whether
It was ever intended to fit in the more ex-
tended scheme we do not know; probably
Dr. Hanslick could enlighten us. It is the
airiest and loveliest thing imaginable^ and

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

while the composer solves some very pretty
canonic problems, the learning is never bur-
densome. As if Brahms had resolved to let
gravity go hence, he wings his way in grace-
ful plastic flight, not forgetting in his second
theme to give Grieg the melodic idea for the
first allegro of the popular piano concerto.
There are two trios, both interesting, the sec-
ond more to my taste, because of its lyricism.
Just here we get a Chopin touch in the C
sharp minor theme, with its rolling, arpeggi-
ated basses. The development and return of
the subject is most happily managed. Why
this piano piece does not figure often upon
the programmes of recitals is only to be ex-
plained by the hide-bound, timid conservatism
of the average concert pianist. I swear to
you I firmly believe that the decadence of the
piano recital — and who can deny that it is not
in decay — is to be ascribed to the fact that
the scheme of the programmes is so lugubri-
ously monotonous. Bach-Liszt, Beethoven
sonata, Chopin or Schumann group, Liszt
Hungarian rhapsody, there you have it season
after season; whereas, a far-seeing pianist
might introduce an occasional novelty by
Brahms, or indeed by any one, and with the
thin edge of the wedge once in, a complete
topsy-turveying of old methods would ensue.

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

and what a boon would it not be for the con-
cert-goer !

The ballades do not next claim our notice
by right of opus, for the variations, op, 9, fol-
low the sonata in F minor, ops. 6, 7 and 8
being given over to two sets of six songs and
the familiar piano trio in B. But I prefer
treating the six books of variations together.
The ballades, four in number, are labelled op.
ID. The first in D minor has the narrative
quality imperatively demanded by the form,
but Brahms has his own notions about the
time beat, and so we find the first two in
common time instead of the usual triple
measure. Thus there is a gain in dignity
and stateliness. The D minor ballade is
rather a lugubrious work divided into an
andante and allegro. The empty fifth har-
mony in the bass, the slow progression in
•the treble, gives the theme a mournful and
Gaelic character. In runic tones the tale
of Herder's Scottish ballade, Edward, is
told, and the dead hero home to his love
is brought. The section in D, with its trip-
lets, gives us some surcease from the gloom,
although there is a peculiarly hollow effect
in the triplet imitation in the bass. This
ballade is almost sinister in coloring and
touches of Brahms' irony are present. It is

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

not a piece for joyous, festive celebrations,
but is nevertheless, finely felt, finely wrought
music.

The next one in D is almost popular and
is very lovely and original. The theme, so
gentle, so winning, so heartfelt, is sung in
octaves, and although the intervals are not
favorable for a legato, yet a perfect legato
is demanded. The first page of this ballade
must needs loosen the obdurate heart strings
of a Finck. The second theme in B minor
is in strong contrast rhythmically, in content
being stern and imperious. I confess the
molto staccato leggiero is a bit of Brahms
that always puzzles me. I find analogies in
Beethoven, in those mysterious pianissimi in
his symphonies and concertos where the soul
is almost freed from the earthly vesture and
for a moment hovers about in the twilight
of uncertain tonalities and rhythms. Brahms,
as Ehlert says, has this gift of catching and
imprisoning moods that for want of a better
name we call, spiritual. The awe, the awful
mystery of the life in us, the life about us,
is felt by Beethoven and Brahms and mar-
vellously expressed by them. The reappear-
ance, to give an example of what I mean,
of the theme of the scherzo in the last move-
ment of Beethoven's fifth symphony has jusi
3 33

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

such a ghostly efTect Later on I shall quote
other instances in Brahms. In the D major
ballade the return to the first idea and in the
luscious key of B is charming, and the piece
ends in soft aeolian harmonies. This ballade
is a masterpiece in miniature.

The third ballade in B minor is in the
nature of an intermezzo. The open fifths
in the bass give the piece an ironic tinge,
and the figure of the opening recalls in-
stantly to the student a similar one in the E
flat minor scherzo. Indeed, to push the simile
further, this intermezzo might be almost
taken for a sarcastic, an ironic commen-
tary upon the earlier composition. In six-
eight time, it is a swinging allegro, and the
ethereal hush of the second part is an ex-
cellent foil. The fourth ballade in B com-
mends itself to the pianist of moderate ability,
for it is not difficult and is very cantabile.
Simplicity of idea and treatment is main-
tained throughout. The middle section is
full of intimate feeling and poetic murmur-
ings. It requires a beautiful touch and a
mastery of the pedals. These four ballades
should be on the piano of every aspiring
pianist. They are able illustrations of what
Brahms can do in small, concise forms.
They must not be compared to the more

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

extended form and more florid content of
the Chopin ballades, which are in the main
unapproachable. With Brahms there is no
suspicion of a set piece ; in Chopin the vir-
tuoso often faces us. It is, after all, the
German and the Pole, and further commen-
tary would be superfluous.

And now to the piano variations. Brahms
is not only the greatest variationist of his
times, but with Bach and Beethoven the
greatest of all times. Oddly enough, we
must join Brahms' name with the two
earlier masters whenever we approach the
serious, the severe side of the art. I refer
to Spitta's pertinent remark about the varia-
tion form.

The old variation form, above all, he says,
is brought out from the treasures of the
old composers, and glorified in his hands.
Brahms' variations are something quite dif-
ferent from what had been commonly known
by that name. Their prototype is Bach's
aria with thirty variations, and this work is
an elaboration of the form known as the pas-
sacaglia. In this the determining idea is not
the addition of figures or of various accom-
paniments to the theme or melody, but the
persistent identity of the bass. This con-
tinues the same through all the variations;

3.'>

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

upon that, a free treatment is worked out —
not, however, excluding an occasional refer-
ence to the original melody. Beethoven so
far adhered to the usually accepted form as
to restrict the supremacy of the bass to alter-
nate use with variations in the melody, and
Schumann fallowed his example. This form
was not adopted by other great masters, and
even Beethoven and Schumann only occasion-
ally used it. Brahms, so rich in inventive
combinations, stands nearer to Bach than to
Beethoven, but has much of Beethoven's freer
style of treatment Augmentation or diminu*
tion of the phrases forming the theme are a
manner of variation never used by Beethoven,
and employed by Brahms only in the varia-
tions in the two first sonatas, and in the
independent Air with Variations, op. 9. In
this it is often surprisingly ingenious, but
he must have thought the process incom-
patible with his strict sense of form, just as
he gave up changes of key from one varia-
tion to the next, which Schumann often
used and Beethoven allowed himself only
once (op. 34).

The first set of variations made by Brahms
is on a theme of Schumann in F sharp minor.
It is a beautiful theme, marked Ziemlich
Langsam, and is familiar to all Schumann stu-

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

dents ; for it is, if I remember aright, the first
of the Albumblatter. These variations dimly
reveal the inexhaustible fancy of the com-
poser. He views his subject from every pos-
sible viewpoint ; he sees it as a philosopher,
he grimly contemplates it as a cynic ; he sings
it in mellifluous accents, he plays with it, teases
it contrapuntally, and alternately freezes it into
glittering stalactites and disperses it in warm,
violet-colored vapors. The theme is never
lost ; it lurks behind formidable ambushes of
skips, double notes and octaves, or it slaps
you in the face, its voice threatening, its size
ten times increased by its harmonic garb. It
wooes, caresses, sighs, smiles, coquets, and
sneers — in a word, a modern magician weaves
for you the most delightful stories imaginable,
all the while damnably distracting your atten-
tion and harrowing your nerves by spinning
in the air polyphonic cups, saucers, plates
and balls, and never letting them for a mo-
ment reach the earth.

Louis Ehlert believes that the Brahms
variation was begotten by a classical father,
the thirty-two variations of Beethoven ; and a
romantic mother, the Symphonic Studies of
Schumann. The comparison is apt enough.
The first variation on the F sharp minor
theme of Schumann seems more like a quiet

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

restatement of the idea; in the second the
bass becomes very important ; the third calls
for no special mention, but the fourth and fifth
are bold, capricious, and the sixth very brill-
iant ; the seventh is very short, but pregnant,
and the eighth is superb. A pedal bass sup-
ports the faintly whispered theme, which is
heard in waving rhythms, as the sobbing of
the wind through the trees. In Paderewski's
strongly individualized Variations in A minor
there is a variation built in this fashion, and
you may find, in Tscharkowsky's interesting
Variations in F, another example.

In the famous ninth variation of this set we
find Brahms indulging in a very delicate and
ingenious fancy. He has combined with the
original theme the entire arpeggio work of
Schumann's little piece in B minor from the
Bunten Blattern, op. 99, no. 5. As Spitta
says, how thoroughly Brahms had thought out
the spirit of the variation is seen in the fact
that he is fond of interchanging the modula-
tory relations of the two phrases of the theme.
The place where this generally occurs is at the
beginning of the second part ; but also in the
second half of the first part. The digressions,
more or less important, which he admits, are
always so chosen that the effect of the newly
introduced key approximately answers to that

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

produced by the original key of the preced-
ing or following phrase. Even the cadenzas
appear altered from this point of view.

In the tenth the bass is used in the upper
part, and the subject derived from the dimin-
ishing to half or quarter notes of the begin-
ning of the subject ; the essential harmonies
are preserved in the same succession, while
the subject is worked out to fill the required
measures, so the reflections of the theme are
diverse ai^d glancing.

The eleventh variation is brief, but full of
meat, and in it the main idea almost disap-
pears in cloudy octaves, in which an occasional
middle voice may be faintly discerned. The
twelfth is a heart-breaker, and bold to ex-
tremes. The coda ends in a whirlwind of
skips, and the wonder-working of the Paganini
studies is dimly presaged.

No. 13 is in the shape of a toccata in doubk
notes, and is capital ; but my favorite varia-
tion, over which you may dream soft, summer
night dreams, is the next, the fourteenth.
This is a true nocturne, and its hesitating
tones, over an undulating bass, tell of the
dear, dead Chopin, lying near Bellini, in Pere
la Chaise.

Variation fifteen is in G flat and in the
Lydian mode, the coda-finale is as if Brahms

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

feared to part from his theme and took a lin-
gering leave taking. These variations are
worthy of the deepest study.

Ill

The Walzer, op. 39, were not written first
for two hands, but for four. The composer
arranged them afterward for solo purposes.
They are divine specimens of the dance, and
I prefer them even to Rubinstein, and that is
saying much, for the Russian has left many
admirable examples.

Any comparison with the Chopin valse is
of course out of the question. Chopin wrote,
as Liszt truthfully said, for countesses, and
in his aristocratic measures we feel the swirl
of silken skirts, divine the perfume of the
fashionable salon and hear the soft pulsations
of delicate, half uttered confidences. The
room rustles with the patter of beauty's feet,
but after all it is a drawing room; not a
breath of the open is there.

There are some of the Chopin valses that
are not only mediocre, but positively bad.
Take the first, the one in E flat, is it not
actually vulgar? And the one in A flat that
follows is not much better. The A minor
valse is elegiac, even unto the Mendelssohnian

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

point. It is when the A flat valse, op. 42, is
reached that we get a taste of the true Chopin.
This with the one in C sharp minor, the post-
humous valse in E minor and the deh'ghtfuUy
developed dance in A flat are Chopin at his
dancing best. The D flat valse is something
to be avoided, simply because of the woful
way it has been misrepresented by pianists.
I don't allude to double-noting the unfortu-
nate piece, but to the erroneous fashion of
playing the first section too fast and the sec-
ond too slow. Georges Mathias, of Paris, a
genuine Chopin pupil, said that the master
took the tempo rather moderately, making an
accelerando on the up run, ending with a little
click on B flat. The rubato, so M. Mathias
declared, was indescribably beautiful ; there-
fore, unless the Chopin tradition is carried
out, let the Valse de Chien rest its tiresome
little bark in peace. With the E flat nocturne,
it has become a nuisance.

The musical content of the Chopin valse is
a certain suavity, distinctive grace, charming
rhythm and aristocratic melody, and it is safe
to say that few of these qualities can be found
in the Brahms Walzer. But as is the case
with Schubert, Brahms dances more poeti-
cally, and always in the open air. Sometimes
the round verge of the sun blazes overhead

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

in the blue, and you hear the muscular jolt
of large limbed men and women taking their
pleasure heartily, then the aromatic night
of the forest encompasses you, and the sound
of dancing is heard, but afar. Poetry is in
the air and passion too, and exquisite is the
sound and exquisite the suggestion.

Take the first dance of the op. 39. It is
in the key of B, and harmonized in the
lustiest, freest fashion imaginable. It opens
boldly, joyously, with the decisiveness we
know so well in the preambule to Schumann's
Carneval. It is but a page long, and a small
page at that, but there is no mistaking its
worth.

The second valse in E has an entrancing
lilt, marked dolce; it is well named. The
mood is nocturnal, the color subdued, but
none the less full of glancing richness. Then
follow two tiny gems, as precious almost as
some of Chopin's preludes. The one is in
the warm and neglected key of G share
minor, the ether in E minor. The first
has the pulse beat of Chopin, the second is
Hungarian and lovely, and the brace of har-
monic progressions at the close is worth
living for.

If there could be such a thing as a sacred
valse, then No. 5 of the series is sacred. In

4«

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

the key of E, you can sense the valse, but
the theme is serious to gravity, just as a
Chopin scherzo is a tragic poem. One feels
like echoing Robert Schumann's " How is
gravity to clothe itself if jest goes about in
dark veils?"

C sharp major is the key of No. 6, and has
a touch of the fantastic element that we find
in the variations. No. 7 in C sharp minor-
major is full of harmonic variety. My two
favorites of the set are the valses in B flat
and D minor. Both are poems. The one in
B flat is a proof positive of Brahms' " genial-
ity." In a small piano piece by the Russian
Liadow, the same melodic and rhythmic idea
is utilized ; even the pretty modulation from
B flat to D flat is not overlooked. Then on
the page opposite in the valse in D minor,
Brahms pilfers boldly from Schumann. In
the Pieces Caract^ristiques (Die Davids-
biindler) No. 18, in C, certainly prompted
Brahms, but with what ease and variety has
he not handled the other man's theme ! It
is like a sigh, an unshed tear, and is more
Brahms than it is Schumann.

By a clever suspension we are at once led
to dance No. 10 in G. The next valse in B
minor might have been written by Schubert.
It is a charming pendant to the Momet

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Musicale, or is it an impromptu in F
minor?

There are sixteen in all and I have briefly
indicated the principal ones, although there
is yet another in the key of G sharp minor
and a delightful one in A flat, No. 15. This
has the true tang of Brahms, the amiability,
the large, sweet nature, the touch of life that
we call universal when we find it in Shakes-
peare. Brahms is far from being a poet of
the universal, for he is too German, lacks
marked profile and is more the philosopher
than the bard. Yet has he something of
fulness of life; the strenuous ideality that
is always found in world-poets.

Remember, too, that I am considering the
man from the points of view of his piano
works. Consider the great German Requiem,
the C minor symphony, the D minor piano
concerto, before you class this composer as
a specialist working within well defined limi-
tations. I dislike playing the part of an
advocate when all should be so clear in the
Brahms question, but I do so because of his
supreme indifference to what anyone thought
of his theory and practice, and also because
of the cloud thrown over him by his warmest
enemies and most misguided admirers. That
he lives, that he gains continually in strength,

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

and this, too, in spite of the Brahmsianer, is a
satisfactory guarantee of his genius.

Let me quote for you what Louis Ehlert-^
by no means a Brahmsianer — wrote of the
Walzer : ''Having in time assumed an ordinary
and most material character, dance music has
been led back to the domain of high art by
Schubert and Chopin. Dancing may be ac-
complished in many ways: passionately, in-
differently, distractedly or symbolically. The
symbolic dancer will introduce in his motions
the poetic idea underlying the dance; that
is, the fleeting, half confidential, and yet not
binding, contact of one person with another
of the opposite sex, a sort of rhythmic dia-
logue without words. And Brahms pos-
sessed the gifl of substantiating his mastery
in this field by the charm of half revealed
sentiment, by the modest denial of the
scarcely uttered confession and by his power
of rendering the wildest yearnings speechless
with confusion.

" At times, it is true, he handles his sub-
ject in a more decided manner, but the most
beautiful among his waltzes are those whose
cheeks are tinged with blushes. Brahms
carried the freshness of youth into his later
years, and blushes are peculiarly becoming
to him. His sweetest melodies are merely

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

tinted with a rosy hue ; they do not possess
the deep, summery complexion of Schubert's.
The small opus has become the ancestor ol
a small literature, and many of our contem-
porary musicians have walked in the way of
the Brahms waltzes."

Elsewhere he says of the Love Song
Waltzes for mixed quartet, with four-
handed piano accompaniment : '* Schumann
and Chopin have themselves scarcely suc-
ceeded in arriving at a more intellectual
and poetic form of the dance." And remem-
ber Ehlert wrote of Brahms : ** His fancy is
lacking in melodic tide," and also, " Brahms'
music has no profile ; ... by this remark I
do not mean absolute censure, for, like Han-
del, one can have too much profile, too much
nose and chin, and too little of the full glance
of the eye."

I transcribe all this to show you the im-
pression made upon his doubting contempo-
raries by this richly gifted composer.

In op. 21 there are two sets of variations —
one in D, on an original theme, the second in
the same key, on a Hungarian song. They
are both excellent preparatory studies for the

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

more famous pair. In them we get the pecu-
liar Brahms technic amply illustrated — for
instance, the first variation of the opus. It
begins with a characteristic figure in the bass,
the harmonic extensions showing how ingen-
iously Brahms handled the arpeggio, avoiding
a tone, accentuating another and gaining new
color. There are some interesting variations
in this set, No. 7, with its wide intervals ; No.
9, another pedal bass effect with huge skips
that look like yawning precipices, yet I do
not particularly care for the set, although con-
stant study of Brahms reveals new points of
interest. The variations on a Hungarian song

are even less fruitful in treatment, but will
repay study.

When, however, we take up op. 24, varia-
tions and fugue on a theme by Handel, we
begin to sense the extraordinary fertility of
Brahms. The theme itself, in B flat, is a
square-toed aria, and what Brahms does with
it is most entertaining, ingenious and musi-
cianly. From the very first variation, surely
full of humor, we get a view of the possibili-
ties of the variation form. I am not sure but
that these variations are more ingenuous, less
sophisticated, and contain less of the ^tude
than the Paganini variations. As they are
occasionally played I shall not go into de-

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

tailed description of the difficulties, except
to say that the entire twenty-five are alive
with musical invention and a certain genial
feeling, a geniality that eminently suits the
ruddy-cheeked tune of Handel. There is
the fifth variation in B flat minor, there
is the fourth with its bass and treble dia-
logue, the fourteenth in double sixths and
the energetic attack of the nineteenth are
all noteworthy.

The fugue is a capital specimen of close
treatment, yet in spirit very free. I do not
begin to find it as dry as certain of the
Beethoven fugues, and it is devilishly tricky.

The variations on the Paganini theme in
A minor are frankly studies, but transcenden-
tal studies, only fit to be mentioned in com-
pany with Liszt's. Apparently the top-notch
of virtuosity had been reached and there re-
mained nothing for Brahms to do but let an
astonishingly fantastic imagination loose and
play pranks that would have caused Schu-
mann to shout with admiration. The very
first variation is a subtle compliment to
Schumann's toccata, and the second, with
the sixths in the left hand, is very trying for
players with short-breathed fingers. In the
third we get rolling rhythms that excite more
than they lull. In the fourth Brahms asks

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

too much of mortal man with a top trill on a
chord, the left hand gambolling over the im-
possible. Then follow some octave studies
the reverse of easy, especially the ninth in
chords. The eleventh is a veritable toccata ;
the thirteenth one of the most brilliant and
popular of the set. The fourteenth is terrible,
exacting and long, for it closes the set.
Brahms, to use a faded figure of speech piles
Pelion upon Ossa in the coda.

The second book starts in with a tremen-
dous and exciting study in double notes, and
the sudden muscular contractions and expan-
sion caused by alternations of double thirds
and octaves is exhausting to anyone but a
virtuoso. The tenth variation, marked Feroce,
energico, exhibits skilful use of arpeggio forms,
and the eleventh variation is simply baffling.
In the next one we get a breathing spell, one
of those green melodic oases in which Brahms
proves to you how easy it is for a great, strong
soul to be gentle and tender.

It may not be considered amiss here to take
a passing glance at some of Brahms' daily
studies for the piano. Naturally a man fond
of solving abstruse technical problems, he
could scarcely let pass the studies of other
composers without considering them in varied
aspects. So he has taken Chopin's tender,
4 49

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

whispering study in F minor (op. 25), and
broken it on the wheel of double sixths and
thirds. It may be magnificent technic, but,
as Rudyard Kipling would ask: Is it art?
It is certainly legitimate experimenting, but I
fancy not fit for publication. A flood of
imitations have resulted, and in some cases
Chopin has suffered exceedingly. Happily
the extreme difficulty of the Brahms transcript
tions will prevent them from ever becoming
as popular as much of Chopin. They are
written for a parterre of virtuosi.

The ^tude after Chopin is entertaining for
the fingers, and of more educational value
than Franz Bendel's treatment of sixths in his
B flat minor study, the ^tude Heroique,

But what shall I say of the Weber rondo,
the so-called perpetual movement, topsy-
turvied by Brahms, and actually played by
him in concert? It is very bewildering and
finally laughable. As a left hand study in
velocity it is supreme, He has subjected a
presto by Bach to two rather drastic treat-
ments, and the famous chaconne he arranged
for the left hand alone. This latter has one
good point, it can be played easily by both
hands, and the immortal piece enjoyed, for
with Bach, Brahms is reverent to a degree.

The fifty-one studies recently published are

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

little gold mines for the student of Brahms.
They are more musical than Tausig's daily
studies and also more normal. In them may
be found all the norms of Brahms' technical
figuration, the mixed rhythms, the curious
extensions, the double notes in thirds and
sixths, with all manner of ingenious fingering.
Examine the fifth study, occupying but a
page, and you will find the key to one of the
most formidable difficulties in the Paganini
studies. It is in broken octaves, arranged in
scale fashion and taken at a rapid tempo.
Various examples will be found of this figure.
Then there are single finger exercises, skips,
scales and interlocked octaves and chords.
Both books are of the highest importance.
Max Vogrich says that the title of the
studies should be A Hospital for Disabled
Virtuosi.

The twenty-one Hungarian dances were
originally arranged for the piano and after-
ward transferred to the orchestra. They are
so familiar in their orchestral garb that I need
hardly allude to them except to say that
some of them are not so well adapted for the
piano. But there are a half dozen that will
outlive all the Liszt rhapsodies, for Brahms
has penetrated more deeply the Hungarian
spirit, has caught color, swing, perfume, mad

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

melancholy and reckless joy without a sus-
picion of the glittering embroidery of Liszt's
virtuoso-like paraphrases. These dances of
Brahms can be made to sound superbly if
played by a pianist with temperament, above
all a pianist who has in his veins Magyar
blood.

I wish I had been in Leipsic in January,
1859, among the big-wigs of music and
listened to the first performance of the D
minor, the first piano concerto, played by its
composer, Johannes Brahms. The Gewand-
haus must have been disgusted by " the sym-
phony with piano obbligato," as the critics
called it; curiously enough, this work has
set the pace for the modern concerto, of
which Eugen d'Albert's two works in B minor
and E major are extreme examples.

Yet carefully read the D minor concerto
to-day, and much of its so-called obscurity
vanishes. When I first heard the work played
by Wilhelmine Claus, an excellent artist, I
confess that, fresh from "Chopinism," this
concerto sounded mournfully vague and un-
certain. Its seriousness was, however, not its
only drawback to popularity. "Where,"
asked a bewildered public, accustomed to the
panderings of" pianism," " where are our trills,
our scales, our runs all over the landscape of

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

the keyboard ? Give us our cadenza, our big
triumphal entrance, and our brilliant finale,
and we will endure a few bars from the orches-
tra ; " bars, let it be said, that about suffice to
allow the solo player to settle in his seat,
recover his wind and nerve and warm his
fingers.

But Brahms thought differently from the
critic and public; to him a piano concerto
was the sonata form amplified, and the piano,
unless it had something to say, must hold its
tongue between its burnished ivory teeth. Do
not, however, imagine that the pianist has a
few doleful chords to play. There are diffi-
culties enough, and of a trying and unusual
order. As for the seriousness of the work
we cannot deny that it is dark at times,
especially in the orchestra, and full of the
strenuous, solid sincerity of the composer.
I cannot help thinking here of what Hadow
wrote for the benefit of those who find Brahms
too grave and earnest: —

The same may be said of ^Eschylus and Dante,
of Milton, of Wordsworth. • • . Music is an art of
at least the same dignity as poetry or painting ; it
admits of similar distinctions, it appeals to similar
faculties, and in it, also, the highest field is that
occupied with the most serious issues, ... If we
are disposed to find fault with Brahms because the

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

greater part of his music is grave and earnest,
let us at least endeavor to realize how such a
criticism would sound if it were directed against
the Divina Commedia, or the Agamemnon, or
Paradise Lost.

For Ehlert the D minor concerto was " his
first crusade into the promised land of art."
He furthermore finds it penetrating, rugged
and unpleasant, but of " undisguised grandeur.
... Its score represents the act of divorce
between the pianist Brahms and the universal
composer."

The first tutti covers all but five pages ; but
how entrancingly enters the opening subject !
I find it simply captivating and without a trace
of harshness. Of course if you will thump
the piano like some pianists who believe that
both Bach and Brahms are dry, pedantic
music-worms, you cannot expect any re-
sponse full of musical and intellectual charm.
And let me say now that half the harm done
to Bach and Brahms is that so successfully
accomplished by pianists who fail to discern
the exquisite musical quality of these com-
posers. Give the public less arithmetic and
more emotional and tonal variety, and
presently you may find Bach and Brahms
ending a programme instead of escorting a
reluctant audience to its seat.

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

On page eleven of the concerto stands the
second theme of the first movement in F.
Show me anything lovelier, more suave, even
in Mozart, and I will be surprised. It is
the earnest and strict polyphonic treatment
throughout and not any paucity of melodic
material that irritates those that still believe
music is made, like bonbons, to tickle the
palate and soothe digestion. There is admira-
ble logic in the working out section and plenty
of finger, wrist and arm breaking ' technic.
The !ast two pages — pages thirty-two and
thirty-three — coming as they do, will force
any strong musical man to exert himself.

The second movement, an adagio, gives us
afler Brahms the thinker, Brahms the poet.
It is in the key of D and could only have
been conceived by a man of the highest
musical ideas and deep feeling. There is an
episode on page thirty-six that gives the lie
to the critics with strabismic hearing. It is in
melody and harmony, simply golden. The
rondo is in strict form, full of classic glee, and
very effective, even in the old-fashioned piano
sense. It demands enduring, honest fingers,
and much breadth of style.

Properly speaking, the second piano con-
certo in B flat, op. 83, belongs to my so-called
second manner of the composer. In it there

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

is less of the philosophic brooding of the first
concerto. It is more passionate, more fluent,
more direct and more dramatic. It shows the
same unerring grasp of construction; but
there is, throughout, more of the musician of
the world, less of the introspective and con-
templative poet. It is brilliant — especially
the passage work — for the piano. The enun-
ciation of the first theme by the horn is
memorable ; beautiful, too, is the violoncello
solo in the slow movement, while the Hunga-
rian finale contains some of the most charm-
ing pages written for piano and orchestra. It
is dashing and piquant, and the second theme
is truly Magyar.

This concerto is always sure to be more
popular than the first, with its Faust-like ques-
tionings. Brahms has dared to be worldly
and less recondite for once.

It seems to me that the piice de resistance
of the Brahms piano music is the Paganini
Variations; those famous, awesome, o'er-
toppling, huge, fantastic, gargoylean varia-
tions erected, planned and superimposed by
Brahms upon a characteristic theme oi
Paganini.

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

Brahms and Faganini ! Was ever so strange
a couple in harness? Caliban and Ariel, Jove
and Puck. The stolid German, the vibratile
Italian ! Yet fantasy wins, even if brewed in
a homely Teutonic kettle. Brahms has taken
the little motif — a true fiddle motif — of
Faganini, and tossed it ball-wise in the air,
and while it spiral spins and bathes in the
blue, he cogitates, and his thought is marvel-
lously fine spun. Webs of gold and diamond
spiders and the great round sun splashing
about, and then deep divings into the bowels
of the firmament and growlings and subter-
rene rumblings, and all the while the poor
maigre Faganini, a mere palimpsest for the
terrible old man of Hamburg, from whose
pipe wreathed musical smoky metaphysics,
and whose eyes are fixed on the Kantean
categories.

These diabolical variations, the last word
in the technical literature of the piano, are
also vast spiritual problems. To play them
requires fingers of steel, a heart of burning
lava and the courage of a lion. You see,
these variations are an obsession with me.

Now take up the Chopin Freludes, and the
last, a separate one, op. 45, in the key of C
sharp minor. It begins with an idea that
Mendelssohn employs in his Song Without

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Words in A minor, " Regret," I think, is the
fanciful name given it by the publishers ; but
play until you come to the thirteenth bar,
and, behold, you are landed in the middle of
Brahms. I do not mean to say that Brahms
copied Chopin, but the mood and its physi-
cal presentation are identical with some of
the music of the later Brahms, the Brahms of
the second period. The most curious part
about this coincidence is that the ten bars
that follow do not sound like Chopin, but
Brahms — oh, so Brahmsian, that bitter-sweet
lingering, that spiritual reverie in which the
musical idea is gently propelled as if in some
elusive dream. Then there are the extended
chords, the shifting harmonic hues, the very
bars are built up like Brahms. Of course
Brahms would have been Brahms without
Chopin; he really owes the Pole less than
he owes Schumann, nevertheless here we are
confronted with a startling similarity of theme
and treatment.

I fancied that Bach anticipated everyone
in modern music, but Chopin anticipating
Brahms is almost in the nature of a delicate,
ironical jest ; yet it is not more singular than
Beethoven anticipating Schumann and Chopin
in the adagio of the sonata, op. io6, and in
the arioso dolente of the sonata, op. i lO.

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

There is nothing new under the sun, said
some venerable polyphonic pundit, in ompha-
lic contemplation on the banks of the
Ganges, and music amply illustrates this eld
saying.

But to op. jGy Clavierstiicke von Johannes
Brahms. This opus is divided into eight
numbers, capriccios and intermezzi; for the
composer disliked excessively giving his
music set names, although it seems to me
that with his intense Teutonism he might have
followed Schumann's example and avoided
the Italian nomenclature as much as possible.

Then again these little pieces are not al-
ways well named, for the rhapsodies are
seldom rhapsodies in the conventional sense,
and the intermezzi are, I suppose, intended
to fill in, as the name indicates, some inter-
mediate place ; but as a matter of fact they
do not, for they are often bunched together.
It is to be supposed that Brahms attached
some intellectual significance to these titles
that is caviare to the general.

The first capriccio of op. ^6 is in the key
of F sharp minor, the brief, restless intro-
ductory suggesting, but rather faintly, Schu-
mann. The principal melody is structurally
in the style of Mendelssohn, but the har-
monization and development of a sort that

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

would have repelled the gentle Felix, who
disliked anything bristling or forbidding.
The mood-color is gloomy, even to despair.
There is a ray of light in the diminished
chord that preludes the return of the theme,
which is treated in inversion — a charac-
teristic trick of Brahms. Near the close
the melody is sounded in quarter-noted
chords and most resolutely, but soon melts
away into vaporous figuration, the piece
ending in the major, but without a ray of
sunshine.

The second capriccio is the familiar one in
B minor, played staccato throughout, and a
piquant and almost agreeable piano composi-
tion. Do you know that I never hear it
without being reminded of the fourth number
in Schumann's Die Davidsbiindler, which is
also in B minor. It is as if Brahms took that
syncopated page and built over it his capric-
cio, with its capricious staccati and ingenious
harmonic changes. Of course the resem-
blance vanishes afler the third bar ; it is really
more spiritual than actual.

Interesting it is to follow the permutations
of the composer. On page nine there is a
refreshing and perfectly sane modulation from
E major to F, and the return to the subject is
cleverly managed. The frisky yet somewhat

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

saturnine character is maintained to the end|
and the doubling up on page twelve is very
effective. A genuine piano piece is this B
minor capriccio.

We now come to the lovely A flat inter-
mezzo, which occasionally strays in an uneasy
fashion on the concert stage. A few pianists
play this tender wreath of moonbeams and
love, but either too slow or too fast To play
Brahms sentimentally is to slay Brahms ; yet
this charming intermezzo in A flat must not
be taken too slow. It exhales an odor of
purity, of peace, that is not quite untroubled,
and nothing sweeter can be imagined than
the dolce on the first page that follows a
ritenuto and introduces a break in the melody.
Its two pages are the two pages of a master-
piece. They give us Brahms at his best and
in his most lovable mood.

The next intermezzo is more shy and more
diffident. Marked allegretto grazioso, its
graciousness is veiled by a hesitating reserve
which further on becomes almost painful.
Mark where the double notes begin, mark the
progression and its dark downward inflection.
But it is a beautiful bit of writing, with some
of the characteristics of a nocturne, but full of
questionings, full of enigmatic pain. Brahms,
too, suffered severely from Weltschmerz.

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

The second book of op. ^6 is a distinct
advance in mastery of material, in the expres-
sion and realization of moods almost too
recondite and remote. The C sharp minor
capriccio which begins the book is more
lengthy and more ambitious than any in the
work. It is an agitated, passionate composi-
tion, driving through darkness and storm
without relief, until a silent poco tranquillo is
reached; but the point of repose is soon
abandoned and the turmoil begins anew and
the ending is full of gloom and fierceness. I
catch Schumann in spots ; for example, near
the end of the second line on the second
page, when a rank modulation stares you in the
face, but with the eyes of Robert the Fantastic.
The tempest-like character of the capriccio is
marked. It is a true soul-storm in which the
spirit, buffeted and drenched by the wind and
wave of adversity, is almost subdued ; but the
harsh and haughty coda shows indomitable
courage at the last. It is a powerful com-
panion picture for Schumann's Aufschwung.

Then follow in the next intermezzo perfect
calm, perfect repose of mind and body. In
the slow moving triplets Brahms indicates
those curves of quiet that enfold us when
we are at one with ourselves, with nature.
Indescribably lovely is the first page of this

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

intermezzo. Even the section in F sharp
minor is gracious and without a hint of the
tragic. The piece ends in A major stillness.

The next number is also an intermezzo, and
with my absurd feeling for similarities I hear
in it an echo of Chopin's F minor nocturne.
The resemblance is not as rhythmic as it is
melodic. For gray days this intermezzo was
written ; go play it when the sun is holding
high and heated revelry in the heavens and
you will feel, rather than see, a shadow cross
your inner vision. It is our pessimistic
Brahms again, and the mood for the moment
is almost one of mild self-torture. A nocturne
in gray, not too profound, too poignant,
rather a note of melancholy is sounded, a
thin edge of light that stipples the gloom with
really more doubt than despair.

The eighth and last number of the opus is
a capriccio, a genuine, whirling, fantastic
capriccio. It is not easy to play; needing
light, sure fingers and a light, gay spirit.
In the second section we encounter a melody
of the later Brahms type. It delights in
seizing remote keys, or rather contiguous
keys, that are widely disparate in relation-
ship and forcing them to consort, the result
being perversely novel and sometimes start-
ling. Some of the modulatory work is very

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

interesting, particularly the enharmonic pro*
gressions at the bottom of the second page.
The capriccio fitly closes a volume of original
and suggestive piano music, but music that is
sealed to the amateur searching for showy or
mere mellifluous effects. After you have
played Bach and Beethoven, after you have
exhausted — if such a thing is possible —
Chopin and Schumann^ you will perhaps
grasp the involuted and poetical music con-
tained in op. 76 of Brahms.

At last we reach op. 79, the two rhapsodies
much talked of, much wrangled over and sel-
dom played.

The first rhapsody is in B minor and is as
unrhapsodic as you can well imagine. It is
drastic, knotty, full of insoluble ideas, the
melodic contour far from melting and indeed
hardly plastic. The mood is sternly Dorian
and darkling. It is the intellectual Brahms
who confronts us with his supreme disdain
for what we like or dislike; it is Brahms
giving utterance to bitter truths, and only
when he reaches the section in D minor
does he relax and sing in smoother accents ;
but those common chords in B flat ruthlessly
interrupt the Norse-like melody, and we are
once again launched on the sea of troubled
argument. This B minor rhapsody always

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

sounds to me as if its composer were trying
to prove something algebraic, all the while
knitting his awful brows in the most logical
manner. There is little rhapsody in it, but
of intellectual acrimoniousness much. The
second melody has an astringency that is
very grateful to mental palates weary of
the sweets of other composers.

This melody in B is another typical one of
the sort referred to above. You could swear
it is Brahms, even if heard in a dark room
with your ears closed — to be very Irish!
The merging of this theme into the first is
characteristically accomplished, and the old
dispute is renewed. As acrid as decaying
bronze is this rhapsody, and yet its content
is intellectual and lofty, the subsidiary melody
in D minor being the one bit of relief through-
out. There are scales in the piece, but surely
not for display, and the regularly constructed
coda is very interesting. This first rhapsody
is for the head rather than the heart.

But the second in G minor is magnificent ;
more ballade-like than rhapsodic, yet a dis-
tinct narrative and one about which I love to
drape all manner of subjective imaginings.
The bold modulation of the theme, its swift-
ness, fervor and power are very fascinating.
I love to think of my favorite. Browning's

S 6s

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.
With what mastery and economy of means
are not the most dramatic effects compassed !
Begin with the chord in E minor so rapidly
translated into G minor, and thence onward.
You can fairly revel in the exhibition of
tragic force, in the free, firm, bold handling
of a subject stripped of all musical verbiage
and reduced to its lowest mathematical term.
The working out is famous in its intensity,
in its grip; never for a moment is the
theme lost, never for a moment is subsidiary
material introduced. There is no padding,
and the great, gaunt skeleton of the structure
would be exposed if it were not for the rush,
the color, the dynamic density of the mass.
A wonderful, glorious, bracing tone-picture
in which Brahms, the philosopher, burns the
boats of his old age and becomes for the
time a youthful Faust in search of a sensation.
A hurricane of emotion that is barely stilled
at the end, this rhapsody reminds me of the
bardic recital of some old border ballad. In
it there is tragedy and the cry of bruised
hearts; in it there is fierce action, suffocat-
ing passion and a letting loose of the ele-
ments of the soul. It is an epic for the
keyboard, and before its cryptic tones we
shudder and are amazed '

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

Op. ii6 is made up of two books of small
pieces called Fantaisien and divided into
capriccios and intermezzi, seven in all. A
bold, restless capriccio, a presto in D minor,
begins the set. Here is the later Brahms with
a vengeance. Cross accents, harmonic cross-
relations, and what Hadow calls organic unity
in the emotional aspect with organic diversity
in the choice of keys. Very daring, very
difficult is this energetic composition. In the
seventeenth bar we find the Hungarian creep-
ing in, in the characteristic Brahms style, but
it only peeps at you for a few bars and is lost
in the hurly-burly of mixed rhythms and
tonalities. The entire character of the piece
is resolute, vigorous and powerful. It is finely
developed both in the emotional and intellec-
tual aspects.

The intermezzo in A minor which follows
is lovely. In its native simplicity it is almost
as noteworthy as the introduction to the
Chopin Ballade in F major-A minor. Its
sweet melancholy has the resigned quality
that Maeterlinck speaks of when describing
an old man who ^its serenely in his chair and
listens to the spiritual messages in the air;

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

sits humbly, peacefully, with sweetly folded
hands, and awaits — awaits what? The tran-
quillity of this nocturne is unbroken even in
the second part, where a whispering figure in
the treble enlaces the theme. It is another
of those vaporish mysteries, those shadowy
forms seen at dusk near the gray, thin edges
of forests. Whether from caprice or logic
Brahms makes a chromatic detour of an
entire line before the coda. It is as interest-
ing as it is unusual. This intermezzo is for
pure, pious souls, and it is not very young
music. It contains an unusual sequence of
chords of the seventh in two parts, the fifths
being omitted.

Of different calibre is the capriccio in G
minor. No. 3 of the set. Passionate, agitated
and intensely moving is the first theme, and
the second in E flat major recalls to Mr.
FuUer-Maitland the style of the early piano
sonatas. But there is freer modulation and
more economy of material. Brahms was not
a young man when he wrote this opus, yet
for the most part it is astonishingly youthful
and elastic. There is fire and caprice in this
composition that make it extremely effective
for the concert stage.

More remote, but exquisitely tender and
intimate, is the intermezzo which begins the

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

second book of op. ii6. It is my favorite
number, and its caressing accents set you
dreaming. In the entire range of piano litera-
ture I cannot recall a more individual and
more beautiful piece of music, and I am fully
conscious that I am writing these words and
all they implicate.

Solemnly the triolen are sung in the bass,
but the treble phrase that follows is purely
feminine and questioning. So slender are the
outlines of this piece that they seem to wave
and weave in the air. The pianissimi are
almost too spiritual to translate into tone ; and
yet throughout, despite the stillness of the
music, its rich quiet, there is no hint of the
sensuous. The luxuriance of color is purely
of the spirit — the spirit that broods over the
mystery and beauty of life. Brahms' music
is never sexless; but at times he seems to
withdraw from the dust, the flesh-pots and the
noise of life, and erects in his heart a temple
wherein may be worshipped Beauty.

Of ineffable, haunting beauty is this inter-
mezzo ; and it is worth a wilderness of some
sonatas and loudly trumpeted rhapsodies by
men acclaimed of great reputation. The end-
ing is benign.

The next intermezzo, in E minor, is, I
confess, gnomic for me. It is marked andante

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

con grazia €d intimissimo sentimento. It
is in six-eight time, and built on phrases
of two notes. Intimate, yes, but the inti-
macy is all on the side of the composer,
for you must long pursue this cryptic bit
of writing before you begin to unravel its
complicated meanings. The composition is
extremely original, extremely poetic; more
like a sigh, a half-uttered complaint of a mel-
ancholy soul. To play it you must first be
a poet, then a pianist.

The next intermezzo is really a minuet. It
is in E, and finely differentiated from its com-
panions of the volume.

A capriccio, also in D minor, closes this
work. It is quite brilliant, and, oddly enough,
contains a full-fledged bravoura passage, in
the nature of a cadenza, and after the most
approved modern manner. It, too, would be
extremely effective in concert.

Op. 117, three intermezzi, leads off with a
delicious cradle song, which I cannot quite
agree with Max Vogrich, as being fit to lull
to slumber a royal babe. Indeed, the child
rocked to sleep by Brahms is not so aristo-
cratic nor so delicate as the infant of the
Chopin Bergeuse but it is just as precious,
even if homelier. The character of the music
is confessedly Scottish, and has for a motto

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

Herder's " Schlaf sanft, mein kind, schlaf sanft
und schon ! " The harmonies are thick,
crowded, and the melody charmingly naTve
and childlike. One might reasonably expect
from Brahms the vision of some intellectual
looking baby, its skull covered with metaphysi-
cal bumps and from its mouth issuing sounds of
senile wisdom. But this is not the case, for
it is a real lullaby we listen to, even if the
second section is darker than one expects.
The return of the subject with the octave in
the upper voice is well managed, and the
composition ends in cooing repose.

An intermezzo in B flat minor follows, and
after playing and digesting it let me hear no
more complaints about Brahms' style being
** unpianistic." This number has been called
Schumannish, but the comparison is a surface
one. Its pages are truly Brahms, and very
difficult it is to play in its insolent, airy ease.

The last intermezzo of the book in C sharp
minor is of sterner stuff. Fuller-Maitland
finds in it a suggestion of the finale of
Brahms' third symphony. For me it is most
exotic, and has a flavor of the Asiatic in its
naked, monophonic, ballad-like measures.
There is an evident narrative of sorrowful
mien, and you encounter a curious refrain in
A^ as if one expostulated at the closing of

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

some gruesome statement Of weighty im-
port is this piece, and in it there is smothered
irony and slightly veiled suffering, and in it
there stalks an apparition of woe, of ennui.
Page fourteen shows the hand of a master.

There are some who find this op. 117a dis-
tinct gain over the previous work. I cannot
truthfully say that I appreciate this criticism,
for both volumes contain gems of the purest.
Temperament has naturally its own prefer-
ences. I have broadly indicated my favorite
numbers, and perhaps next year may discover
new beauties in the compositions that now
fail to make a strong personal appeal. Cer-
tain it is that no number should be slighted.

We now near the end, for only op. 118 and
op. 119 remain to be considered. The first
intermezzo in A minor of the former opus
starts off in an exultant mood — a mood of
joyful anticipation. In it you are glad to be
alive, to breathe the tonic air, to be smothered
in the sunshine. Tell me not in doleful num*
bers that Johannes Brahms cannot be optimis-
tic, cannot hitch his wagon to a star, cannot
fight fate. There is passionate intensity and
swift motion in this intermezzo. While play-
ing it you are billowed up by the conscious-
ness of power and nobility of soul. The
tonality is most diverting and varied.

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

The succeeding intermezzo is in F minor,
and is andante. A very graciously pretty
piano piece it is» and well within the grasp of
a moderate technic. The melodic material is
copious and rich, and the harmonies very
grateful. For example, play the F sharp
section and the following measures after the
double bar in F sharp major; how genial,
what resource in modulatory tactics, what
appreciation of diversity in treatment !

A stirring and royal ballade in G minor
follows. It is Brahms of the masculine gen-
der, the warlike, impetuous recounter of
brave deeds and harsh contest. Although the
key coloring is gloomy, there is too much
action, spirit and bravery in the ballade for
gloom to perch long on the banners of the
composer. A wonderful second subject in B
interrupts the rush of the battle, which is soon
resumed. Even its pauses are brilliant.

The fourth intermezzo in A flat has quite a
savor of the rococo, with its gentle theme
and response. Something of the Old World
hovers in its rustling bars, the workmanship
of which is very ingenious, especially in the
management of the basses in the second part.
There is a tiny current of agitation in this
intermezzo, despite its delicacy of contour,
its lightness of treatment.

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

No. 5 is a romance suffused with idyllic
feeling. There is atmosphere and there is
the heart quality, a quality lacking in most
modern composers. A very grateful com-
position, simple and serene, is this romance.

E flat minor is the key of the last inter-
mezzo of op. 1 1 8, and a trying composition
it is, requiring nimble fingers, fleet fingers
and a light, strong wrist. The idea reminds
me of one of Brahms* earlier pieces, a mere
kernel of a figure, which is expanded, ampli-
fied, broadened, deepened by the composer
at will. It is full of fantastic poetry, and
there is sweep and vision in the composition;
which has a ring of dolour and is full of the
sombreness of a sad, strong soul.

Op. 119 ends the Brahms music for the
piano. The daily studies were doubtlessly
written before. But the four pieces that com-
prise op. 119 may be said to be practically
the last music for the instrument he loved so
faithfully. There is no falling off in inspira-
tion or workmanship. The idea and its ex-
pression are woven in one strand; there is
much polishing of phrase and no lack of
robustness.

The opening number is in B minor, an
intermezzo, an adagio, and full of reverent,
sedate music. Since Beethoven no one can

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

vie with Brahms in writing a slow, sober
movement; one in which the man, moral,
intellectual and physical, girds up his loins,
conserves his forces and says his greatest and
noblest. The sustained gravity, the profound
feeling never mellows into the pathetic fallacy,
and of the academic there is not a trace.
This adagio is deeply moving.

The next intermezzo in E minor is of ex-
treme loveliness ; its poco agitato is the rust-
ling of the leaves in the warm west wind, but
they are flecked by the sunshine. A tremu-
lous sensibility informs this andantino, and
its bars are stamped by genius.

Fancy the gayest, blithest intermezzo,
marked "joyfully" and you will hear the en-
chanting one in C. The theme is in the
middle voice, and the elasticity, sweetness
and freedom throughout are simply delightful.
It is three pages of undefiled happiness, and
only to be compared to that wonderful rhyth-
mic study in A flat by Chopin, the supple-
mentary study in the Fetis method. But
Chopin is so sad and Brahms so merry, yet
the general architectonic is not dissimilar.

A very Schumannish and vigorous rhap-
sodie in E flat closes the set, and is in all
probability the last piano piece penned by
the composer. In it Brahms returns to an

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

early love, Schumann, and there are echoes
of the march of the Davidsbiindler in the
beginning; no one but Brahms could have
written the section in C minor or A flat.
This rhapsodie is for me not as interesting
as the one in G minor, but it is brilliant, and
requires wrists of steel.

One who is better qualified to speak on the
subject than myself, Mr. Max Vogrich, made
the following suggestions as to the order in
which these pieces may be played in concert.
He writes : —

As the pianist cannot possibly play all twenty
pieces in one concert, he must perforce undertake
the painful task of selection. Every concert player
knows that he can never win over his audience to
sympathy, unless himself in fullest sympathy with
the compositions which he performs. He will there-
fore play op. ii6 through, and find iu the very first
number (Capriccio) an exquisite and highly effec-
tive piece, teeming with trpng octave passages. If
he will, he can sufficiently exhibit his technic —
and his muscular fortitude — in this number. No. 2
(Intermezzo) and No. 3 (Capriccio) will strike him
as less effective. But in No. 4 (Intermezzo) he
will discover a gem of the first water, an adagio
enchanting in its wondrous sonority — a study in
tone. The two next following intermezzi, again,
will afford less complete gratification by reason oi

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

their overcharged seriousness, also the Capriccio,
conceived somewhat in the spirit of a study, and
forming the close of op. ii6. Quickly taking up
op. 117 (Three Intermezzi), the player opens it at
No. I, a slumber song, but one excelling, in depth
of feeling, delicacy and absorbedness of mood,
anything ever produced in this class of poetry,
Schumann's Traumerei excepted. It was penned
by a king, and only a king should play it to lull to
slumber a royal babe.

Would anyone be moved to tears by pure
music, let him listen to the two succeeding inter-
mezzi, especially the last, which is fitted to bring
sentimental souls to the verge of despair. Brahms
must have experienced much evil in his life 1
Finally, our growingly enthusiastic pianist reaches
op. 118 and op. 119. And now he cannot tear
himself away from the piano. No further thought
of concert or audience disturbs him now ; nor can
he devote a thought to careful selection.

He further remarks that :

Since the days of the Fantasiestticke the Kin-
derscenen, the Kreisleriana and the Novelletten,
that is, since more than half a century, the entire
range of piano literature has had nothing to show
which could be even remotely compared in intel-
lectual import with these twenty pieces by Brahms.

Brahms has the individual voice, and in his
piano music his almost Spartan simplicity

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

sometimes unmasks the illusory quality of the
instrument. Yet, I protest if you tell me that
he does not write Klaviermassig. His tech-
nics are peculiar, but they make the piano
sound beautiful ; an eloquent tone is needed
for Brahms, and your ten fingers must be as
ten flexible voices. He never writes salon
music, with its weak, vapid, affected mien.
You needs must play much Chopin and Liszt,
for too much Brahms makes the fingers slug-
gish, that is sluggish for the older and more
rapid-fingered composers.

Touching on the content of his piano
music we find much variety. He has felt the
pessimism of his times, but his ideals were
noble, and no man could prefer Fielding as
an author and not be robust in temperament.
He is often enigmatic and hard to decipher.
Often and purposely he seems to encage him-
self in a hedge of formidable quickset, but
once penetrate it and you find blooming
the rarest flowers, whose perfume is delicious.
To me this is the eternal puzzle ; that Brahms,
the master of ponderous learning, can yet be
so tender, so innocent of soul, so fragile, so
childlike. He must have valiantly protected
his soul against earthly smudging to keep it
so pure, so sweet to the very end. I know
little of his life, except that he was modest to

THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

gruffness, that he loved beer, the society of
women and good cooking. Very material all
these, but the man was nevertheless a great
poet and a great musical thinker.

His piano music is gay, is marmoreal in its
repose, is passionate, is humorous, is jolly, is
sad, is depressing, is morbid, recondite, poetic,
fantastic and severe. He pours into the elas-
tic form of the sonata hot romantic passion,
and in the loosest textured smaller pieces he
can be as immovable as bronze, as plastic as
clay. He is sometimes frozen by grief and
submerged by thought, but he is ever fasci-
nating, for he has something to say and
knows how to say it in an individual way.
Above all he is profoundly human and touches
humanity at many contacts.

Let me conclude by quoting from that just
critic of Brahms, Louis Ehlert : " It is char-
acteristic of his nature that he was born in a
Northern seaport, and that his father was a
contrabassist. Sea air and basses, these are
the ground elements of his music. Nowhere
is there to be found a Southern luxuriance,
amid which golden fnrHs smile upon every
bough, nor that superabundance of blissful
exuberance that spreads its fragrant breath
over hill and dale. Now here, however, on
the other hand, may there be met that

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

enervating self-absorption, renunciation of
effort or Southern brooding submission to
fate. . . . He neither dazzles nor does he
conquer with an assault. Slowly but surely
he wins all those hearts that demand from
art not only that it shall excite, but also
that it be filled with sacred fire and endowed
with the lovely proportions of the beautiful."
Brahms is indeed an artist of the beautiful
and nowhere is this better exemplified than
in his piano music.

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

By the side of the Blue Sea is a great smd green oak tree

girt with a golden chain.
Day and night a marvellous and learned cat crawls around

this oak.

When he crawls to the right he sings a song;

When he crawls to the left he tells a story.

It b there you must sit down and learn the understanding

of Russian legends. . . .
There the spirit of Russia and the fantasy of our ancestors

come to life again.

Philip Halb, after Pushkin.

There you have Russia : when the Russian
is not singing songs, saturated with vodka or
melancholy, he is spinning stories shot through
with the fantastic, or grim with the pain and
noise of life. In the European Concert his
formidable bass tones make his neighbor's
voice sound thin and piping. Napoleon proph-
esied that before the end of the century
Europe would be either Republican or Cos-
sack, and only a few years ago the Moscow
6 8i

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

6*tf-8r^/5f^ exultantly proclaimed that the " twen-
tieth century belongs to us." By no means
an anti-Slavophile in music, Henry Edward
Krehbiel, as far back as 1885, uttered his
warning, " 'Ware the Muscovite ! "

On the doorsill of the new century this old-
young nation, if not master, is almost a deter-
mining factor in politics, art and literature.
I'olstoy straddles the two hemispheres, having
written one of the greatest novels of the cen-
tury, and like some John Knox of the North,
he thunders at our materialism and cries,
" Ye of little faith, follow me, for I alone am
following the true Christ Jesus, our Lord
and Saviour 1 "

In politics Russia is the unknown quantity
that fills the sleep of statesmen with restless
dreams. In painting she is frankly imitative
and too closely chained to the technical ideals
of Paris ; in sculpture the name of Antokolsky
rivals Rodin, while in music she is a formidable
foe of Germany.

One is almost tempted to write that much
Russian music, certainly all modern Russian
piano music comes from Frederic Chopin, if
you did not remember Chopin's Slavic affili-
ations. Yet in a sense it is true. Chopin
plays a big part in the harmonic scheme of
all latter- day composers, Wagner not excepted

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

Not alone in the use of dispersed harmo-
nies was he a pioneer, but in the employment
of the chromatic scale, in the manipulation
of mixed scales, the exotic scales savoring of
Asiatic origin; Tschalkowsky and Dvordk
transferred to a broader canvas and subjected
to a freer handling many of the Polish mas-
ter's ideas. To deny to Chopin originality
of themes, rhythms and harmonic invention
would be pushing the story back one notch
too many. Weber, Rossini, Grieg, Liszt,
Dvordk, Glinka, indeed all the nationalists in
music, might also be challenged critically on
the score of originality.

If Russian music, the only organized musical
speech of the nation, owes something to
Chopin, Michael Glinka was unquestionably
its father, for, like Weber, he lovingly plucked
from the soil the native wild flowers and gave
them a setting in his Ruslan and Life for
the Czar. In his train and representing the
old Russian school are Alexander Darjomisky
and Alexander Seroff, while with " Neo-
Russia" rudely blazoned on their banner,
follow the names Cesar Cui, Rimski-Korsakoff,
Borodin, Balakireff, Liadow, Glazounow,
Stcherbatcheff, Arenski, Moussorgsky, Vladi-
mir Stassoff and others. Outside of this pale
and viewed with suspicious eyes stand the

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

figures of Anton Rubinstein, who went to
Germany and made music more Teutonic
than Russian, and Piotor Ilyitch TschaYkow-
sky, who, like Chopin had French blood in
his veins, his mother being the descendant
of a family of French emigrants.

It would be interesting to compare the
cosmopolitanism of TschaTkowsky and Ivan
Turgenev. The great novelist, one of the
greatest in Russia and France, was regarded
by his contemporaries in the same fashion as
the little masters regarded TschaTkowsky.
The big men like Gogol, Pushkin, DostoYew
sky were followed by scores of imitators, who
wore their blouses untucked in their trousers.
This was their symbol, and their watchword
was ** We are going to the people." It was a
.savage reaction against cosmopolitan influ-
ences, for Russia has successively sufTered
from the invasion of English, French and
German ideas, customs, manners and even
costumes. The rabid Slavophilist would
have none of these ; he hated Italian pictures,
German philosophy and French literature.

Now Turgenev, loving Russia with a great
love, yet exiled himself to study his country
from afar. He saw her faults, he knew her
rash, crass ignorance, her greed for foreign
flattery, and he also felt her heartbeat. Not

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

even Tolstoy is more drenched with aflfection
for his land, not even Tolstoy wrote with
more passion and pathos of his countrymen.
But Turgenev lived in Paris. He was a great
artist in words as well as ideas, and his artistry
was so much damning evidence against him
by the cultivators of the new Chauvinisme.
What was form and finish to them that were
"going to the people?" And so this noble
nian went to his grave discredited by his own
people, and homage was accorded him by a
foreign nation. It broke his heart, and the
same rank nationalism certainly embittered
the last days of Tschalkowsky who, like Tur-
genev, practised his art passionately and
persistently ; and while the little men, Cui,
Borodin and the rest, were theorizing and
dabbling with nationalism, he, like a patient
architect, reared his superb tonal edifices,
built of the blood and brawn and brain of
Russia, even though here and there the ar-
chitecture revealed his Western European
predilections.

In a word, Turgenev, Tschalfkowsky and
Toistoy were travelled men; they drank
deeply at all the founts of modern poetry
and philosophy, and each, without losing his
native quality, expressed himself afler the man-
ner of his individual nature and experience,

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

and how infinitely wider in range, depth and
versatility are the utterances of these three
masterful artists when compared with the nar-
row, provincial and parochial efforts of their
belittlers! And then the three are great,
not alone because of their nation ; they are
great personalities who would make tremble
the ground of any other land.

Rubinstein alone seems to have slipped
between the stools of race and religion. Born
a Jew, raised a Christian, and of Polish origin,
he played the piano like a god, and his com-
positions are never quite German, never quite
Russian. He has been called the greatest
pianist among the composers and the greatest
composer among the pianists, yet has hardly
received his just due.

TschaYkowsky's life is the record of a
simple, severe workingman of art. Clouded
by an unfortunate and undoubted psycho-
pathic temperament, he suffered greatly and
shunned publicity, and was denied even the
joys and comforts of a happy home. He
died of cholera, but grave rumors circulated
In St. Petersburg the day of his funeral;
rumors that have never been quite proved
false, and his sixth and last symphony is
called by some the Suicide Symphony. A
complete nervous breakdown resulted in

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

1877, and his entire existence was clouded
by some secret sorrow, the origin of which
we can dimly surmise, but need not inves-
tigate. A reticent man, a man of noble
instincts, despite some curious pre-natal in-
fluences, of winning manners, honest as the
tides, TschaYkowsky went through his ap-
pointed days an apparition of art, and in its
practice he lived and had his being.

He was born April 25, 1840, at Votinsk, in
the Government of Viatka, in the Ural dis-
trict. He died November 5, 1893, at St.
Petersburg.

In May, 1891, TschaYkowsky, at the invi-
tation of Mr. Walter Damrosch, visited
America and appeared in the series of festi-
val concerts with which Carnegie Hall was
opened. The composer conducted his third
suite, his first piano concerto in B flat minor,
the piano part taken by Adele Aus der Ohe,
and two a capella choruses. He subse-
quently visited other cities, and was every-
where received with enthusiasm.

TschaTkowsky's last notable public appear-
ance was in the summer of 1893, when he
conducted some of his own works at Oxford,
and received the degree of Doctor of Music
from the University.

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In 1877 TschaYkowsky became engaged to
a lady whom he had met at the house
of her relatives sixteen or seventeen years
previously.

That he married her was known to few,
and the musical world was surprised at the
mention of a wife Antonina in the composer'^
will. She received an annuity, but not a
liberal one, and perhaps that is the reason
she disclosed the history of the curious
courtship and marriage of Peter Ilyitch
Tschalkowsky.

He was constitutionally timid, and morbid
in his dislike of women ; his friends advised
marriage. But he was nervous and moody
and in no hurry, yet when Antonina told him
that she intended to study at the Conserva-
tory he said:

'* It were better that you married ! "

Peter hung fire, and Antonina, who had
secretly loved him for four years, finally,
after much church going and prayer vigils,
determined to assist her modest friend —
suitor he was not. She wrote him a letter
proposing marriage, which he answered, and
of all their acquaintance this seems to have

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been the happiest time. She must have had
a good literary style, for Peter praised it, and
finally called on her. He spoke of his gray
hairs, but never mentioned hers, although
she was at least thirty-four — he was seven
years her senior. She answered that merely
to sit near him and hear him talk or play
was all she asked. Again he hesitated and
begged for a day's grace. The next time
he saw her he said he had never loved ; that
he was too old to love, but as she was the
first woman he had ever met that had pleased
him he would make a proposition. It was
this: If a brotherly love and union would
satisfy her ideal of mated life he would con-
sent to a marriage. After this coy proposal
the matter was debated in a perfectly calm
manner, and as he left her he asked:

" Well ? " She threw her arms about his
neck, and he hastily fled.

After that he visited her during the after-
noons, but avoided all attempts at tenderness,
only kissed her hand, and even dispensed
with the familiar "thou." In a week he
begged for a month's leave of absence, as
he had to finish his opera, Eugene Onegin.
Madame Tschalkowsky declared that it was
"a composition dictated by love." Onegin
is Tschalkowsky, Tatjana is Antonina, and she

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

furthermore said that all the operas he had
written before or since meeting her were cold.
The marriage occurred July 27, 1877, eleven
days after Tschalkowsky returned to Moscow.

The sequel of such an extraordinary woo-
ing may be easily foreseen. Tschalfkowsky's
morbidity increased, and he seems to have
taken an intense dislike to his bride. Every-
thing she did displeased him ; he objected to
her costumes, and one can hardly blame him,
for at the tea table one evening she appeared
in a light yellow gown, wearing a coral neck-
lace ! When he discovered the corals were
imitation he burst from the room, crying:
" How fine, my wife wears false corals ! "

In six weeks TschaTkowsky had enough of
married life, and left for a Caucasian water
cure ; but it was really an excuse, as he went
to visit his sister. She must have given him
advice, for he returned to his wife ; but after
three weeks more, and in the middle of the
month of November, he told her that he had
a business trip to make. She went unsus-
pectingly with him to the railroad depot,
where his courage almost forsook him, and
he took his final leave of her, trembling like a
drunken man. He embraced her several
times, and finally pushed her away with the
ejaculation:

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" Now go ; God be with you ! " They never
met again. She only partially explains the
catastrophe by saying that outside influences
were brought to bear on her husband.
Averse to conjugal life, credulous as a child
and extremely irritable, he was led to believe
that matrimony would prove fatal to his
development as a musician. There is no
doubt that this was true ; indeed for such a
neurotic, erratic temperament marriage was
little better than prussic acid. Antonina
doubtlessly suffered much and understood
TschaYkowsky's peculiarities, yet she did not
complain until after his death, and then only
when she found that the bulk of his property
had been left to his favorite nephew.

There is no need of further delving into
the pathology of this case, which bears all
the hall marks familiar to specialists in nerv-
ous diseases, but it is well to keep the fact in
view, because of its important bearing on
his music, some of which is truly pathological.

I once wrote of TschaTkowsky that he said
great things in a great manner. Now I some-
times feel that the manner often exceeds the
matter; that his masterly manipulation of
mediocre thematic material often leads us
astray ; yet, at his best, when idea and execu-
tion are firmly welded, this man is a great

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

man ; one who felt deeply, suffered and drank
deeply at the acid spring of sorrow. Not as
logical nor as profound a thinker as Brahms,
he is more dramatic, more intense, and dis-
plays more surface emotion. You miss the
mighty sullen and sluggish ground swells
of feeling in Tschalkowsky ; but then he
paints better than the Hamburg- Vienna com-
poser ; his brush is dipped in more glowing
colors ; his palette is more various in hues,
while the barbaric swing of his music is usually
tempered by European culture and restraint.
Reticent in life, he overflows in his art. No
composer except Schumann tells us so much
of himself. Every piece of his work is signed,
and often he does not hesitate to make the
most astounding, the most alarming confes-
sions.

He fulfilled in his music much that Rubin-
stein left unsaid. Rubinstein was a Teutonic
mind Russianized; but, unlike Rubinstein,
Tschalkowsky, with all his Western culture,
kept his skirts clear of Germany, Her science
he had at his finger tipa but he preferred
remaining Russian. His ardent musical tem-
perament was strongly affected by France
and Italy. He has certainly loved the lus-
cious cantilena of Italy, and has worshipped

at the strange shrine of Berlioz. Indeed

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Berlioz and Liszt are his artistic sponsors;
and the French strain in his blood must not
be overlooked.

In his later years, as if his own clime had
chilled his spirit, he solaced himself in Italy
and Spain, a not incurious taste in a stern
Northman. Despite his Western affiliation
there is always some Asiatic lurking in
Tschatkowsky's scores. One can never be
quite sure when the Calmuck — which is said
to be skin deep in every Russian — will break
forth. Gusts of unbridled passions, smelling
of the rapine of Gogol's wild heroes of the
Steppes, sweep across his pages, and some-
times the smell of blood is too much for
us, unaccustomed as we are to such a high
noon of rout, revelry and disorder.

He was a poet as well as a musician. He
preached more treason against his govern-
ment than did Pushkin, or those ** cannons
buried in flowers " of the Pole Chopin. His
culture was many sided ; he could paint the
desperate loves of Romeo and Juliet, could
master Hamlet, the doubting thinker and
man of sensibility; could feel the pathetic
pain of Francesca da Rimini, and proved that
Lermontov was not the only Slav who under-
stood Byron's Manfred ; he set Tolstoy's sere-
nade to barbaric Iberian tones, and wrote

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

with tears at his heart that most moving song,
Nur wer die Sehnsucht Kennt, a song that
epitomizes Goethe's poem; and then only
think of the F minor, the £ minor and the B
minor symphonies ! What a wonderful man
he was ! and how his noble personality tops
all the little masters of the Neo-Russian
school !

Tschatkowsky was one who felt many in-
Suences before he hewed for himself a clear
cut, individual path. We continually see in
him the ferment of the young East, rebelling,
tugging against the restraining bonds of Occi-
dental culture. But, like Turgenev, he chas-
tened his art ; he polished it, and gave us the
cry, the song of the strange land in a worthy,
artistic setting. His feeling for hues, as shown
in his instrumentation, is wonderful. His or-
chestra fairly blazes at times. He is higher
pitched in his color scheme than any of the
moderns, with the exception of Richard
Strauss; but while we get daring harmonic
combinations, there are no unnatural unions
of instruments; no forced marriages of reeds
and brass ; no artificial or high pitched voic-
ing, nor are odd and archaic instruments em-
ployed. Indeed Tschalkowsky uses sparingly
the English horn. His orchestra is normal.
His possible weakness is the flute, for which

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he had an enormous predilection. His im-
agination sometimes played him sinister
tricks, such as the lugubrious valse in the
Fifth Symphony and the stinging shower of
pizzicati in the Fourth.

He was not a great symphonist like Brahms ;
he had not the sense of formal beauty, prefer-
ring instead to work in free fashion within the
easy and loosely flowing lines of the overture-
fantaisie. The roots of the form are not diffi-
cult to discover. The Liszt symphonic poem
and its congeries were for Tschalkowsky a
point of departure. Dr. Dvordk was there-
fore in a sense correct when he declared to
me that TschaYkowsky was not as great a
symphonist as a variationist.

He takes small, compact themes, nugget-
like motives, which he subjects to the most
daring and scrutinizing treatment. He pol-
ishes, expands, varies and develops his ideas
in a marvellous manner, and if the form is
often wavering the decoration is always gor-
geous. Tschalkowsky is seldom a landscape
painter ; he has not the open air naYvetd of
Dvordk, but his voice is a more cultivated
one. He has touched many of the master
minds of literature — Shakespeare, Dante,
Goethe, Byron and Tolstoy, and is able to
give in the most condensed, dramatic style his

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

subjective impressions of their poems. He
is first and last a dramatic poet He deline-
ates the human soul in the convulsions of love,
hate, joy and fear; he is an unique master
of rhythms and of the torrential dynamics that
express primal emotions in the full flood.
His music has not the babbling rivulets, the
unclouded skies, the sweet and swirling
shepherds and shepherdesses of Dvordk, but
it is more psychologic. Give Tschatkowsky
one or two large human figures, give him a
stirring situation, and then hark to the man as
his dramatic impulse begins to play havoc.
As well talk of form to Browning when Ottima
and Seebold faced each other in the ghastly
glare of the lightning in that guilty garden of
old Italy !

Tschatkowsky has more to say than any
other Russian composer, and says it better.
He is no mere music maker, as Rubinstein
often is, writing respectable, uninspired rou-
tine stuff. He worked earnestly, tremen-
dously. Hence we find in his music great
intellectual energy, great dramatic power,
ofttimes beauty of utterance, although he is
less spontaneous than Rubinstein. He had
not that master's native talent, but he culti-
vated his gifls with more assiduity. His
style is not impeccable, and is seldom lofly,

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

but he has plenty of melodyi charming
melody, and while he was not a seeker after
the one precious word, the perfect phrase,
yet his measures are more polished; show
the effect of a keener and more rigorous
criticism than Rubinstein's.

TschaYkowsky is eclectic, and many cosmo-
politan woofs run through the fabric of his
music. Italy influenced, then Germany, then
France, and in his latter day he let lightly fall
the reins on the neck of his Pegasus, and was
much given to joyously riding in the fabled
country of ballet, pantomime and other de-
lightful places.

He is eminently nervous, modern and in-
tense; he felt deeply and suffered greatly;
so his music is fibred with sorrow, and some-
times morbid and full of hectic passion. He
is often feverishly unhealthy, and is never as
sane as Brahms or Saint-Saens. His gamut
is not so wide as deep and troubled, and he
has exquisite moments of madness. He can
be heroic, tender, bizarre and hugely fierce.
His music bites, and the ethical serenity of
Beethoven he never attains; but of what
weighty import are some of his scores ; what
passionate tumults, what defiance of the
powers that be, what impotent titanic
straining, what masses of tone he sends
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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

scurrying across his pain-riven canvases !
The tragedy of a life is penned behind the
bars of his music. Tschalfkowsky was out of
joint with his surroundings; women de-
lighted him not, and so he solaced himself
with herculean labors — labors that made
him the most interesting, but not the greatest
composer of his day.

He had in a rare degree the gift of musical
characterization ; the power of telling in the
orchestra a poetic story, and without the
accessories of footlights, scenery, costumes or
singers. Charles Lamb most certainly would
aot have admired him.

And Russia, how he loved her! That
wonderful Russia which Turgenev loved and
divined so perfectly. Listen to Turgenev;
listen to the pessimistic side of the Russian :

" Sadness came over me and a kind of in-
different dreariness. And I was not sad and
dreary simply because it was Russia I was
flying over. No ; the earth itself; this flat
surface which lay spread out beneath me ; the
whole earthly globe, with its populations,
multitudinous, feeble, crushed by want, grief
and diseases, bound to a clod of pitiful dust;
this brittle, rough crust, this shell over the
fiery sands of our planet, overspread with the
mildew we call the organic vegetable king-

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dom; these human flies, a thousand times
paltrier than flies, their dwellings glued to-
gether with filth, the pitiful traces of their
tiny, monotonous bustle, of their comic
struggle with the unchanging and inevitable
— how revolting it all suddenly was to me !
My heart turned slowly sick, and I could not
bear to gaze longer on these trivial pictures,
on this vulgar show. . . , Yes, I felt dreary,
worse than dreary. Even pity I felt nothing
of for my brother men ; all feelings in me
were merged in one, which I scarcely dare to
name : A feeling of loathing, and stronger
than all and more than all within me was the
loathing — for myself."

Now turn from this Hamlet-mood and read
The Beggar !

I was walking along the street. • . . I was stopped
by a decrepit old beggar.

Bloodshot, tearful eyes, blue lips, coarse rags,
festering wounds. • . . Oh, how hideously poverty
had eaten into this miserable creature !

He held out to me a red, swollen, filthy hand.
He groaned, he mumbled of help.

I began feeling in all my pockets. . • . No
purse, no watch, not even a handkerchief. ... I
had taken nothing with me. And the beggar was
still waiting, . , . and his outstretched hand feebly
shook and trembled.

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Confused, abashed, I warmly clasped the filthy,
shaking hand. ..." Don't be angry, brother ; I
have nothing, brother."

The beggar stared at me with his bloodshot
eyes; his blue lips smiled, and he in his turn
gripped my chilly fingers.

"What of it, brother?" he mumbled, "thanks
for this too. That is a gift too, brother."

I knew that I, too, had received a gift from my
brother.

Russia, a stripling with stout, straight limbs
and white hair, is all fire, caprice, melancholy
and revolt. Turgenev, more cosmopolitan,
lighter in his touch than Tolstoy or Tschal-
kowsky, is able to give us in these two prose
poems the sadness and the big heart of
the Slav, but in Tschatkowsky we get the
melancholy, the caprice, the fire and the
revolt. If he be not the most Russian of
composers, he is certainly the greatest com-
poser of Russia !

Ill

Like Rubinstein, Tschatkowsky became
celebrated as a composer after he had written
a little piano piece — a Chanson Sans Paroles,
curiously enough in the same key as Rubin-
stein's melody in F. A Polish dance, as we

lOO

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all know, lighted Scharwenka's torch of fame
in this country. Tschalkowsky has never
since written so tender, so dainty a piece as
this little song without words. An op. 2, it
gave him a vogue in the salon that has sent
many a shallow admirer to sorrow, for it may
be said at the outset that his compositions for
piano are not Klaviermassig, do not lie well
for the flat keyboard.

Read the very first opus, the Russian
Scherzo in B flat, and you encounter a style
that is decidedly orchestral. Massive octave
and chord work, with dangerous skips and a
general disregard for the well-sounding. In
nearly all of his piano music I And this striv-
ing for the expression of the idea at the
expense of smooth delivery, and we who have
outlived the technical opportunism of the
school that shuddered at the placing of the
thumb on a black key must of necessity
defend this course; but I wish to say for
the benefit of those who groan over Brahms
that he is a veritable Chopin compared to
Tschatkowsky — a veritable Chopin in his
feeling for the right word and the right
mechanical placing of it. Tschatkowsky's
writing for piano is that of the composer for
orchestra. He thinks orchestrally, and his
position as a technician might be placed

lOI

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

midway between Schumann and Liszt. Bee-
thoven, employing the technics nearest at
hand — the Clementi technics — writes more
idiomatically for the instrument than this
latter-day Russian master. Hence the gen-
eral indifference to his music manifested by
pianists ; hence the rareness of his name on
concert programmes, for the whole tribe of
pianists is sheep-like in its aversion to a new
pasture, and only after the leader has leaped
the gap in the hedge does it timidly follow
and sniff at novel herbage.

For teaching purposes the pedagogue en-
counters a genuine bar in Tschatkowsky's
smaller pieces. After a page of delightful
and facile writing, a flock of double notes or
a nasty patch of octaves appear, and some-
times the teacher is himself floored by the
difficulties. You may count on one hand the
popular piano compositions of a small genre
— the song without words, a real serenata,
if ever there was one, with a streak of dark
pathos in the middle; the number called
June, from the Seasons, in the key of G
minor, a barcarolle hinting of Mendelssohn
and a stepfather to Moriz Moszkowski's bar-
carolle ; the theme and variations from op. 19,
a scherzo in F from Souvenir de Hapsal, and
the Album d'Enfants, op. 39.

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I shall not consider in detail all the piano
orchestral or lyric works of TschaYkowsky,
but only the typical ones, and, furthermore,
I urge pianists who are clamoring for a novel
repertory to study and search for them-
selves and not be deterred by the absence of
stereotyped forms of passage work, for, while
TschaTkowsky is never a path-breaker in this
respect, his piano music is not always cast in
an acceptable mould.

I have mentioned op. i. No. i, as being a
Scherzo k la Russe; the second number an
Impromptu. The little scherzo in F from
op. 2 is tricky and full of vitality.

It is not difficult. The second theme is
very pretty. This op. 2 also contains
"Ruines d'un Chiteau," and the familiar
song without words, op. 3 — you see, I am in
deadly earnest and mean to give you the
story to its bitter end — is the opera Voye-
vode. Op. 4 is Valse Caprice, for piano in
A flat, very brilliant; op. 5, the piano Ro-
mance much played by Rubinstein ; op. 6 is
composed of six romances for voice ; op. 7
is a piano Valse-Scherzo, also played by
Rubinstein; op. 8, a Capriccio for piano in
G flat; op. 9, three piano pieces — a Reverie,
a Polka and a Mazourka; op. 10, two piano
pieces — a Nocturne in B and a Humoresque ;

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op. II, the famous string quartet, E flat
with its entrancing slow movement; op. 12,
an opera rejoicing in the felicitous title ol
Snegourotschka, or La Fille de Neige, a
lyric drama in three acts. It was damned
by Russian critics. Op. 13 — at last we come
to a symphony, the first in G minor, some-
times called A Winter's Journey. It has
been played here.

The work took shape under Rubinstein's
eyes and has an antiquated flavor. It was
composed in 1868 when Tschalkowsky taught
at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. If it
were not for the last movement, which
has a smack of the Calmuck, and the modern
instrumentation, I should say that Mendels-
sohn had more to do with this youthful
composition than Rubinstein. There is the
same saccharine volubility, the same saccha-
rine cantabile and the same damnable fluency
that characterizes the work of the feline Felix.
Of the poet that penned those masterpieces,
Francesca, Hamlet and Rom6o et Juliette
there is not the faintest spoor.

The symphony is monotonously in the key
of G minor, with the exception of the adagio.
It is called A Winter Journey, and the
slush must have been ankle-deep. The first
t\^^o movements are labelled, Winter Journey

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Dreams and Foggy Landscape, which of
course may mean anything or nothing. The
Allegro tranquillo is smooth, even smug,
and one entire phrase for the wood-wind
occurs in the working-out section of the first
movement of Rubinstein's D minor piano
concerto. The adagio is well made but is
not musically convincing, notwithstanding its
dark, rustling introduction, and the pretty
conversation between oboe and flute. When
the *celli take up the solo one feels as if
something were being accomplished. The
scherzo is a melancholy apology and the
trio cheap. In the finale, noisy and bar*
baric, we get a taste of our Tschatkowsky,
despite the garishness of loosely built fabric.
The work is promising but we miss the
large sweep, the poetic, passionate inten
sity, the keen note of naturalism and the
fine intellectual acidity which we look for in
this great composer.

Oddly enough it was Tschalfkowsky's favor-
ite as is evidenced by the following com-
munication from Mr. E. Francis Hyde the
president of the New York Philharmonic
Society: "When Tschalkowsky was in this
country in the spring of 1891 I used fre-
quently to see and converse with him about
musical matters. One evening when he was

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

at my house, I had taken from my library
the scores of his second, third, fourth
and fifth symphonies and narrated to him
the times of their first production in this
country, and the circumstances connected
with their performance. I then asked him
which one of all his symphonies he liked the
best, naturally supposing he would mention
one of those lying before us. To my sur-
prise however, he replied that he liked his.
first symphony best of all. He said that it
was the first expression of his feelings in a
large composition of purely orchestral form,
and he had a peculiar afiection for his first
born. He did not enter into any details
regarding its subject-matter but he expressed
a hope that it would soon be produced in
this country."

Tscharkowsky may have been indulging
in a little sentimental cynicism. Op. 14 is
an opera, Vakoula, The Smith, in three
acts; op. 15 is the Ouverture Triomphale;
op. 16 comprises six romances for voice with
piano; op. 17 the second symphony in C
minor and known as the Russian.

In it Tscharkowsky begins to reveal his skill
in orchestration, and the themes of the first
movement are all strong ; at least two of its
movements are not symphonic in character.

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The first allegro, the strongest, is very Rus-
sian in thematic quality. The entire move-
ment is characterized by a bizarre freedom,
even recklessness. But there can be no doubt
about the skill of its maker. The fantastic
Durchfuhrungsatz and the melancholy beauty
of the opening — and very Slavic theme —
are intimations of the greater Tschatkowsky
who came later.

He omits the slow movement and marches
us to the lilting rhythms of Raff and Gounod.
The harmonies are more piquant, for the
Russian wields a marvellous color brush. It
is a clever episode, yet hardly weighty enough
for symphonic treatment. For that matter
neither is the banal march in Raff's Lenore
symphony.

The scherzo that follows is in the Saint-
Saens style. It reveals plenty of spirit and
there is the diabolic, riotous energy that
pricks the nerves, yet never strikes fire in
our souls. The entire work leaves one rather
cold. The finale is very charming and the
variation-making genius of the composer
peeps out. The movement has the whirl and
glow of some wild dance mood and over
all Tschatkowsky has cast the spell of his
wondrous orchestration. In the work are
potentialities that are realized in his later

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symphonic works. It is our beloved TschaT-
kowsky but as yet in precipitation. In style
immature, there is much groping after effects
— effects which he used with such a sure
touch in Hamlet and Francesca. Those piano
staccato chords for the brass choir, a genuine
mannerism, are already here, and his fondness
for chromatic scales, contrapuntally used, may
be noted. An interesting symphony.

Op. 1 8 is The Tempest, a fantaisie for
orchestra I never remember hearing. It
was first played here by Mr. Frank Van Der
Stucken.

In op. 19 we come once more upon familiar
piano land, six pieces, the last of which is the
variations in F. These are built upon an
original theme, simply harmonized, savoring
of a Russian cantus firmus. The first three
are not striking ; the fourth, an allegro vivace,
is original in treatment ; the fifth, an andante
amoroso in D flat, suggests Chopin ; the sixth,
very bold and full of imitations ; the seventh,
short and in the mode ecclesiastic ; eighth, in
D minor, is Schumannish ; nine is a fascinat-
ing mazourka ; number ten is in F minor, and
tender; number eleven. Alia Schumann, is
characteristic ; the twelfth on a pedal point is
Brahms in color, and the presto finale, made
of a figure in sixteenths, is very brilliant

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iliese variations give us a taste of TschaTkow*
sky's quality in a form at which he was never
beaten except by Brahms. They have served
as models for several composers of the
younger generation.

Op. 20 is " Le Lac de Cygnes," a ballet in
three acts, also unknown to us, but the title
is a charming one; op. 21 is six pieces for
piano, dedicated to Rubinstein, a prelude,
fugue, impromptu, marche funebre, ma-
zourka and scherzo; op. 22 is the second
string quartet, almost as famous as its prede-
cessor, but, if more euphonious, is not marked
by the rude Russian vigor and originality of
op. 1 1 ; op. 23 is the first piano concerto in
B flat minor, and here let us tarry before
again plunging further in the thicket of twist-
ing, octopus-like numerals.

This concerto, one of the most brilliant of
works of its class written since Liszt, is quite
as fragmentary as Xaver Scharwenka's con-
certo in the same key, but it is more massive,
more symphonic in the sense of development,
weight, power, color, but not of form. The
piano part is not grateful, yet it has attracted
the attention of such a pianist as Von Billow,
to whom it is dedicated.

The work is interesting and full of surprises.
The march-like first theme in three-quarter

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time, the astounding brilliancy and fulness
of the piano part makes this opening very
imposing. The processional quality is broken
by the enunciation of the theme in dotted
notes, followed by a Lisztian cadenza, with
a repetition later in the orchestra of the
subject. Then come those truncated, slurred
triplets for octaves in unison, which are so
portentous, and with which TschaTkowsky
accomplishes so much; makes a mountain
out of a mole hill. The flutes and clarinets
indulge in imitations of this until the full choir
joins in, and then in augmented tempo the
piano repeats, and Anally it all dies away in a
cavernous manner, leaving you in doubt as to
its meaning or what to expect. But the Poco
meno mosso is delightful, albeit its halting,
syncopated accent breeds pessimistic doubts,
soon resolved in the flowing lyric measures
which ensue. The shadow of Schumann hov-
ers here on brooding wings; yet another
theme presents itself in A flat for the muted
violins, with a zephyr -like accompaniment
from the piano. Pastoral is the effect and
plangent the rippling arpeggi. This theme
leads off in the development with the profile
only of the triplets of the intermezzo preced-
ing. The piano part bursts in with octaves,
and is singularly rich and vigorous. This

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

reprise is full of learning and boldness of
handling. I like the way the second theme
reappears in B flat, although tonalities
throughout are constantly shifting, and a har-
monic haze, a blur of color, is often the only
picture presented. The cadenza toward the
close of the movement is more than three
pages, and starts off in G flat, sounding sus-
piciously like the cadenza in Rubinstein's
D minor coi^erto. The finale is very im-
pressive. The second movement in D flat
is exquisite; a melting, amorous nocturne,
charged with the soft languors of a summer
night in Russia. There is atmosphere and
there is a beloved one being sung to. The
prestissimo, a fairy scherzo, with dancing,
delicate shapes, all disporting themselves to
a vague valse tune that must have been
born on the Danube. This section has been
charged with being commonplace, but a
clever concert master can with a pencil stroke
give the bowing and rhythm the distinction it
needs. Yes, Tscha'fkowsky could be distract-
ingly banal ; he could add the two of loveli-
ness to the two of vulgar and make the sum
five instead of four.

The andantino semplice ends serenely ; and
the Allegro con fuoco which follows is Russian
in its insistent, irritable hammering accent on

III

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

the second beat of the bar. You can't help
being carried away by the swing of it all, and
the gay second subject relieves the drastic
note at the beginning. All goes bravely,
another subject appearing in Schumannish
figuration. A dazzling movement this. Joseffy
has altered the three pages of what he calls
" Czerny unisons/' and made the passage
work more modern. The finale is thundering.
This B flat minor concerto is, after all, Tschalf-
kowsky at his best on the piano. His melo-
dies are sweet, for the most part sane, and
there is a sense of restless power suffusing
the entire composition. It will stand as one
of his representative efforts.

Let us, O weary sister, O bored brother!
take up our staff and again wander down this
flower and fungi-dotted path of opus land.
Op. 24 is our next number, and is the opera
Eugene Oneguine, or Jewgeny Onegin.
This was produced in St. Petersburg in 1879.
It never proved a success, although trans-
planted in various countries. The mazourka
and valse are familiar, and the polonaise in G
has been arranged by Liszt for concert. It
is sonorous and pompous, but for me rather
empty. The lyric theme or trio is common-
place. Upon the opera as a whole I can pass
no judgment, not having a score. Op. 25,

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A MODERN MUSIC LORD

more romances, six for voice ; op. 26 is the
S^r^nade Mdancholique, for violin; op. 27,
six romances for voice; op. 28, seven more;
op. 29, the third symphony in D, a further
step in power and variety in this form. The
first movement is beautiful music. The in-
troduction in D minor hardly presages the
brilliant allegro with its clear cut and animated
figure. This theme is martial in character, a
charming second subject being announced by
the oboes. The movement is concise and
shows an increased mastery in form. The
second movement, an alia tedesco in B flat,
is sweet and quaint but hardly belongs to a
symphony. The andante comes next, in D
minor, it is short and elegiac and seems better
suited to a suite. This idea is further intensi-
fied when you are confronted by a fourth
movement in B minor and a finale in D. Five
short movements do not make a symphony,
for there is neither unity of thought nor
tonality in the work ; not so pregnant a com-
position as the second essay in the symphonic
form.

Op. 30 is the third string quartet; op. 31
is the delightfully fresh Marche Slave for
orchestra, which we have so often admired in
the concert room; op. 32 brings us to the
Tschalkowsky we all feel is great, for it is
8 X13

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

the overture fantaisie Francesca da Rimini,
surcharged with the woe, the passion of the
guilty pair who forgot that day to read their
book, and so were slain, and were seen by
Dante and the Shade of Virgil as their thin
souls mounted in the spiral of sin and shame
and in the stormy blasts of hell.

Not as often heard as the Romeo and
Juliet, I nevertheless prefer it.

The Variations " Sur un air rococo," for
'cello and orchestra, op. 33, are excellently
written, very ingenious and very difficult. Op.
34 is a scherzo-valse for violin and orchestra,
and op. 35 the concerto in D for the same
instrument. This has been heard here several
times. It is romantic in feeling and a very
interesting work, although by no means a
masterpiece. Op. 36 is the fourth symphony
in F minor, a symphony that only falls short
of being as great as the fifth and sixth. It
is like all of his symphonies ; loosely put
together but certainly more homogeneous
than the last one. The first strong, sombre
movement, the andantino di modo canzona,
the scherzo pizzicato ostinato and the harsh
and sweeping finale are all fine imaginative
mood pictures. There is the melancholy, the
droning lament, the feverish burliness of the
Russian poet, the Russian peasant. The

114

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

scherzo is like a winged projectile. I shall
speak of it again.

Op. 37, the only piano sonata of TschaTkow-
sky, deserves resurrection. Its great length,
fifty pages, has kept it in the libraries
of pianists. Doubtless Karl Klindworth, to
whom it is dedicated, plays it. Its opening
is rudely vigorous, while a counter theme in
G minor is a blending of Chopin and Mendels-
sohn; diffuseness follows, lack of cohesive-
ness being the gravest fault of the work.
Here, as in most of the piano music, the
thought is orchestral, and is writ large for
orchestra. There is more simplicity in the
E minor andante, and for a time the idiom
is of the piano. The scherzo is the Tschal-
kowsky of the merry mood, the waggish
humor. He plays jokes throughout. The
finale is all hammer and tongs. In a foot
note the composer humbly suggests the
correct use of the pedal, knowing that color,
atmosphere, perspective are the very essen-
tials of his piano music.

Six pieces for singing, as they call them,
mark op. 38, the first being that devilish and
rollicking and saturnine serenade of Don
Juan in B minor, the text by Tolstoy. He
sings to his love on the balcony. In the
accents of a sinister Bravo he bids her from

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

behind the lattice, and there is fear and
cynicism in this wonderful song, so full of fire
and the melancholy of a foredoomed soul.
A great song, and I shall never forget the
night Edouard de Reszke sang it, with its
growling piano ritornello. It sounded satanic.
Op« 39> to pick up the arithmetical thread,
is the Piano Album for Children, and con-
tains just two dozen little pieces fit for the
soft fingers of babyhood, except where a
stretch wanders in, that would tax an or-
ganist's thumb. Op. 40 is another collection
of pieces, twelve in all, of medium difficulty.
The Chanson Triste is familiar. Op. 41 is
a Messe Russe for four voices, with organ
and piano; op. 42 is for violin and piano,
Souvenir d'un lieu cher ; op. 43 is the
first orchestral suite, and op. 44 the second
concerto for piano and orchestra in G. This
latter is dedicated to Nicolas Rubinstein, and
the first time I heard it played in public was
at the Philharmonic festival in 1892 at the
Metropolitan Opera House, under Anton Seidl.
Franz Rummel was the pianist, and even he,
iron-handed as he was, had to make abundant
cuts. The work, as I recollect it, is more
closely knit in texture than the first of its
form, and is more musical, more imaginative,
if less brilliant and showy. It will figure on

116

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

the programmes of the twentieth century vir-
tuoso. The pianists of to-day refer to it as a
symphony with piano obbligato. It has since
been played here by Siloti. The last move-
ment is the most Russian, the second being
an exquisite pastoral, while the opening
allegro is rhythmically noble and broadly
eloquent.

There is no uncertainty in the ring of its
first theme, a theme of sonorous nobility and
virile assertiveness. The man who made such
a theme has the blood of musical giants in
his veins, peradventure the blood is a bit
crossed with a Calmuck strain. The first
movement is admirably developed, and the
orchestra and piano have it out hammer and
tongs fashion, the piano getting the better of
the situation, particularly in the tremendous
cadenza set in a decidedly unconventional
place in the movement. The second move-
ment contains some lovely writing, and the
piano has to concede to the violin a solo of
charming interest, although it later takes its
revenge by playing the melody har jionically
amplified. But the work is much too long.

Op. 45 is the Capriccio Italien, for or-
chestra, of which I once wrote : It is Russian
icicles melted into fantastic shapes by Nea-
politan fire and terpsichorean fury. The

117

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Russian loves to dream of the South. Even
Heine wrote " Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam."
Philip Hale says that there are in it "pas-
sages needlessly and ineffectively vulgar." I
accept his later judgment, for when 1 heard
the piece I was color mad, and in those days
I loved any color so it was red or purple. Op
46, six vocal duos; op. 47, seven romances
for voice and piano ; op. 48, the serenade, for
strings ; op. 49, the Overture Solennelle, bet-
ter known as " 1812," an impossible and noisy
overture ; op. 50 is the lovely trio in A minor
for piano and strings, written to commem-
orate the death of Nicolas Rubinstein, who
was a near friend of Tschalkowsky. It is a
true elegy.

Op. 51 contains six piano pieces, valse,
polka, minuetto, valse, romance and a valse
sentimentale ; op. 52 is another Russian mass
for four voices, and op. 53 is the second suite
for orchestra ; op. 54 is another collection oi
songs, sixteen in number, and for youth ; op.
55 is the third and most popular suite for
orchestra, the theme and variations of which
are heard nearly every season. The finale-
polonaise of these is most brilliant ; op. 56 is
that tremendously difficult and long fantasie
for piano and orchestra, written for Annette
Essipoff, and played here by Julia Riv^-King.

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A MODERN MUSIC LORD

I forget how many bars the cadenza contains,
but it is so long that the audience is apt to
forget there is an orchestra. Yet the themes
are > fresh, the execution in Tschalkowsky's
most virile vein, and if the cadenza were cut
or omitted the fantasie would certainly be
heard oftener, especially as the orchestra is so
eloquent and entertaining. But who will play
the surgeon ?

We are now in the very thick of the fight
of the fierce battle waged by TschaTkowsky
for his ideals. To know the complexion of
his soul you must study his orchestral works,
and after his op. 57, six Lieder, comes the
noble Manfred symphony, op. 58. If I
had a spark of the true critic in my veins
I would be able to give the dates of the per-
formances of this — to use a banal expres-
sion — inspired work. But I am not a handy
man at figures of any sort, and indeed barely
remember the composition except as a mag-
nificent picture in poignant tones, Manfred
seeking forgetfulness of his lost Astarte in the
mountains, the Witch of the Alps ; and after
a wonderful sketch of the Alps, with the
piercing blue above the calm, a ranz des

119

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

vaches not at all in the Rossinian manner, the
death of Manfred, and the maddening tonal
debaucheries in the hall of Arimanes. Here
is our Tschalfkowsky at his top notch; the
temper of the man showing out clear and
poetic and dramatic to all extremes. The
passion of life and its folly are proclaimed by
a master pessimist who from his birth was
sacrificed to those three dread sisters told
of by De Quincey. A most moving and agi-
tated tale, and one that almost shakes your
belief in the universe. No joy of life here
but a morbid brooding, a mood of doubt and
darkness. There are desperate moments in
the music, and Manfred's naked soul stands
before us. The finale, with its sweeping
melos, accompanied by the organ, is most
melancholy, but not without a gleam of hope.
TschaYkowsky is a poet who sometimes
prophesies.

Op- 59 is a Doumka, a rustic Russian
scene for piano solo. Op. 60 consists of a
dozen romances for voice, and op. 61 is the
delightful fourth orchestral suite, Mozar-
teana, in which TschaYkowsky testified in a
lively manner to his love for Mozart. He has
utilized the Ave Verum in a striking way,
and not even Gounod himself was ever so
saturated with the Mozartean feeling as the

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A MODERN MUSIC LORD

Russian composer in this suite. It is a great
favorite.

The Pezzo Capriccioso is numbered op.
62 and is for violoncello, with orchestral ac-
companiment. It is as wayward and Slavic
as anything Tscharkowsky ever wrote, ending
in mid air, as is occasionally his wont. More
songs comprise op. 63, and the opus that
follows, 64, is the fifth symphony in E minor.
It is the most Russian of all his symphonies
and its basis is undoubtedly composed of
folksongs. Its pregnant motto in the andante,
which is intoned by the clarinets, is sombre,
world weary, and in the allegro the theme,
while livelier and evidently bucolic, is not
without its sardonic tinge. The entire first
movement is masterly in its management of
the variation, the episodical matter, the various
permutations in the Durchfiihrung all being
weighed to the note and every note a telling
one. Not themes for a symphony in the
classic sense, Dvorak thinks, yet not without
power, if lacking in nobility and elevation
of character. But what an impassioned ro-
mance the French horn sings in the second
movement! It is the very apotheosis of a
night of nightingales, soft and seldom footed
dells, a soft moon and dreaming tree-leaves.
Its tune sinks a shaft into your heart and

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

hot from your heart comes a response; the
horizon is low, heaven is near earth and
carking life beyond, forgotten in the fringes
and shadows. Some pages of perfect writing
follow; the oboe and the horn in tender
converse, and you can never forget those
first six bars ; all youth, all love is clamoring
in them.

How that slow valse, with its lugubrious
bassoon and its capering violins in the trio,
affects one ! A sorrowful jesting, quite in
the Russian style. It is a country where
the peasants tell a joke with the tears stream-
ing down their faces and if the vodka is
sufficiently fiery, will dance at a funeral.
The clatter and swirl of the finale is deafen-
ing, the motto in the major key is sounded
shrill, and through the movement there is
noise and confusion, a hurly-burly of peas-
ants thumping their wooden shoes and yell-
ing like drunken maniacs. All the romance,
all the world-weariness has fled to covert,
and the composer is at his worst with the
seven devils he has brought to his newly
garnished mansion. It is this shocking want
of taste that offends his warmest admirers,
and his skill in painting revelries is more
accentuated than Hogarth's. Certainly you
can never affix the moral tag.

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A MODERN MUSIC LORD

Tschatkowsky is often possessed by these
devils, and then the whole apparatus of his
orchestra is shivered and shaken. His chro-
matic contrapuntal scales on the heavy brass,
his middle voices never at peace, the whir
and rush of the fiddles and the drumming
and clash of cymbals are the outward evi-
dence of the unquiet Calmuck man beneath
the skin of Peter Ilyitch. That he can say
obscure things I am willing to swear, and his
neurotic energy is tremendous. This fifth
symphony has its weak points; structurally
it is not strong, and the substitution of the
valse for the familiar scherzo is not defensible
in the eyes of the formalists. But there are
moments of pure beauty, and the mixing of
hues, despite the Asiatic violence, is deft and
to the ear bewildering and bewitching.

Just here I should like to make a digres-
sion and examine more fully the predecessor
of the symphony in E minor, the fourth in
F minor. In symmetry, beauty of musical
ideas, suavity, indeed in general workman-
ship, it is not always the equal of the fifth
symphonic work, but in one instance this
may be qualified: The first movement is
full of abounding passion, is more fluent
in expression than the first allegro of the fifth
symphony.

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

The theme in the introduction of the F
minor symphony bears a strong resemblance
to the opening of Schumann's B flat sym-
phony, but not in rhythm. It is used in
several movements later as a sort of leading
motive or perhaps to give an impression of
organic unity. The theme proper is ro-
mantic in the extreme and charged to the
full with passion and suspense. The halting,
syncopated phrases, the dramatic intensity,
the whirl of colors, moods and situations are
all characteristic.

The episode which follows the principal
theme can hardly be called a theme; it is
a bridge, a transition to the second subject.
TschaTkowsky can sometimes be very Gallic,
for Gounod is suggested — a phrase from the
tomb music in Rom6o et Juliette — but is
momentary. Musically this first movement
is the best of the four, more nalfve, full of
abandon and blood-stirring episodes.

The second movement in B flat minor,
andantino in modo di canzona, is a tender, sad
little melody in eighth notes, embroidered by
runs in the woodwind — Cossack counter-
point. It has a sense of remoteness and
dreary resignation. It is uncompromisingly
Slavic. It is said to be the actual transcrip-
tion of a Russian bargeman's refrain. This

124

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

is treated in a variant fashion — the second
subsidiary in A flat being delivered by clari-
nets and fagottes, a middle part piu mosso
in F, the whole concluding with the fagotte
intoning the flrst melody. Sombre it is and
not the equal in romantic beauty of the lull-
ing horn solo in the slow movement of the
E minor symphony.

The scherzo allegro in F, plucked by the
string choir, is deficient in musical depth,
but its novel workmanship fixes one's atten-
tion. It is called a pizzicato ostinato, al-
though the pizzicati are not continuous. It
is full of a grim sort of humor, and the
trio for woodwind, oboes and fagottes is rol-
licking and pastoral. The third theme —
smothered staccato chords for brass with
sinister drum taps — is thoroughly original
and reminds us of the entrance of Fortinbras
in the composer's Hamlet. The working
out is slim but clever.

The last movement in F is a triumph of
constructive skill, for it is literally built on an
unpretentious phrase of a measure and a half.
It is all noisy, brilliant, interesting, but not
of necessity symphonic. The main theme,
almost interminably varied, is not new. It
may be found in a baritone solo, Mozart's
Escape from the Seraglio, and in a slightly

I2S

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

transformed shape it lurks in the romanza of
Schumann's Faschingschwank aus Wien.
TschaYkowsky's wonderful contrapuntal skill
and piquancy of orchestration invest this
finale with meaning.

Western ears are sometimes sadly tried by
the uncouth harmonic progressions and by
the savagery of the moods of this symphony.
Symphony perhaps in the narrow meaning of
the term it is not A wordless music drama
it could be better styled. All the keen, poig-
nant feeling, the rapidity of incident, the
cumulative horror of some mighty drama of
the soul, with its changeful coloring and
superb climax are here set forth and sung by
the various instruments of the orchestra, which
assumes the rdle of the personages in this
unspoken tragedy.

How intensely eloquent in this form is
Tscharkowsky, and what a wondrous art it is
that out of the windless air of the concert
room can weave such epical sorrow, joy, love
and madness !

Op. 65 brings us to six romances for voice
and piano, and op. 66 the ballet of La Belle
au Bois Dormant. Op. 6y is the Hamlet
overture fantaisie, which evidently finds its
form in Wagner's unsurpassable Eine Faust
overture. It is remarkable in that it begins

126

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

in A minor and closes in F minor. There
seems to be little attempt to paint the con-
ventional Hamlet mood, the mood of atrabili-
ary sluggishness and frenetic intellection, but
rather hints of the bloody side of Shake-
speare's purple melodrama. In it stalks the
apparition, and the witching hour of midnight
booms to the bitter end. There is the pa-
thetic lunacy of Ophelia — a lovely theme
limns her — and there is turmoil and fretting
of spirit. At the close I am pleased to imag-
ine the figure of Fortinbras thinly etched by
staccato brass and the rest, that is silence to
the noble spirit who o'ercrowed himself, is
sounded in thunder that may be heard in the
hollow hills. It is not TschaTkowsky's most
masterly effort in the form, but it is masterly
withal, and its mastery is mixed with the alloy
of the sensational.

Op. 68 is an opera in three acts. La Dame
de Pique; op. 69, Yolande, opera in one
act; op. 70, the lovely Souvenir de Flor-
ence, a sextuor for two violins, two altos and
two 'celli. It is Tschalkowsky at his hap-
piest and he makes simple strings vibrate
with more colors than the rainbow. Op. yi
is Casse-Noisette, a two-act ballet, a suite
that has often been played here. It is
dainty, piquant and bizarre. Op. 72 consists

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

of eighteen pieces for piano solo, variously
called Impromptu, Berceuse, Tendres Re-
proches, Danse Caract^ristique, Meditation,
Mazurque pour Danser, Polacca de Concert,
Dialogue, Un Poco di Schumann, Scherzo
Fantaisie, Valse Bluette, UEspiegle, £cho
Rustique, Chant fil^giaque, Un Poco di
Chopin, Valse k Cinqtemps, Pass^ Lointan
and Scene Dansante, which last bears the
sub-title of Invitation au Trepak.

These pieces are of value ; many are grace-
ful and suitable for the salon. The polacca
and the scherzo are more pretentious and
might be played in public. The imitations of
Schumann and Chopin are clever. It must
be confessed, however, that TschaXkowsky
often bundles the commonplace and the
graceful and does not write agreeably for the
piano. Rubinstein surpassed him in this re-
spect. There is always a certain want of
sympathy for the technical exigencies of the
instrument and the suavely facile and the
bristling difficult are often contiguous. There
is no mistaking TschaYkowsky's handiwork in
these pieces, the longest of which, the
scherzo, is twenty-one pages and quite trying.
The most brilliant is the polacca.

It cannot be denied that the composer
must have boiled numerous pots with his

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A MODERN MUSIC LORD

piano pieces, many of them are so trivial, so
artificial and vapid. Op. 73 is six melo-
dies for voice, and in these are four vocal
romances without opus number. I have
not said much about the songs, although
they are Tschatkowsky's richest lyric offer-
ings. Some are redolent of the sentimen-
tality of the salon, but there are a few that
are masterpieces in miniature. Pourquoi,
words by Heine, in German Warum sind
denn die Rosen so Blass? is popular, not
without justice, while Nur wer die Sehnsucht
Kennt is fit to keep company with the
best songs of Schubert, Schumann, Franz
and Brahms. In intensity of feeling and in
the repressed tragic note this song has few
peers. It is a microcosm of the whole Ro-
mantic movement.

Among the unclassified works I find a can-
tata with Russian words, three choruses of the
Russian Church, the choruses of Bortiansky,
revised and annotated by TschaYkowsky in
nine volumes; an Ave Maria for mezzo
soprano or baritone, with piano or organ
accompaniment; Le Caprice D'Oksane, op-
era in four acts; Jeanne D'Arc, opera
in four acts and six tableaux; Mazeppa,
opera in three acts; La Tscharodeika, La
Magicienne ou la Charmeuse, opera in four

9 »*9

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

acts, and Hamlet — the overture I have
already spoken of, — which consists of over-
ture, melodrames, marches and entr'acts,
regular music for the play. Then there is
the Mouvement PerpAuel, • from Weber's
C major sonata, arranged for the left hand —
Brahms has had an imitator — and an im-
promptu caprice for piano. TschaTkowsky
has also made a Manual of Harmony in
Russian. The richness and variety of this
composer's music is remarkable. Not coming
into the world with any especially novel word
to speak or doctrine to expound, he never-
theless has been gladly heard for his sin-
cerity — a tremendous sincerity — and his
passionate, almost crazy intensity. If you
were to ask me his chief quality I should
not speak of his scholarship, which is pro-
found enough, nor of his charm, nor of the
originality of his tunes, but upon his great,
his overwhelming temperament — his almost
savage, sensual, morbid, half mad musical
temperament — I should insist, for it is his
dominant note; it suffuses every bar he
has written, and even overflows his most
effortless production.

The history of the symphonic Ballade called
Voy^vode is interesting. In 1891 TschaT-
kowsky gave the work a rehear3al and, not

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liking it, tossed the score into the fire. It
was rescued in a semi-charred condition by
his pupil, Siloti, the pianist. It has no opus
number, but through internal evidence it may
safely be called an early and immature work
of the composer. This ballade, with its crude
realism, its weakness in thematic material and
above all its imitative instrumentation, strong-
ly savoring of Wagner, may be classed as a
youthful sketch worked over. The pro-
gramme is a dramatic one. The music at-
tempts to depict the jealousy of a chieftain,
who, finding his young wife in the arms of
another, shoots her. But the bullet never
reaches her heart, for the servant he has
commanded to fire on the lover misses his
aim — purposely perhaps — and the Voy6vode
is killed instead. The poem is by Pushkin.
TschaYkowsky has succeeded in writing a
vigorous, even rough, dramatic episode, in
which the galloping of the chieftain's horse
as he returns from the war, the amorous scene
in the garden and the catastrophe are all
fairly well pictured. Melodramatic is the
word that best describes this music, which
contains in solution many of TschaYkowsky *s
most admirable characteristics. The bassoon
is heard, with its sinister chuckle, and there
is a richness of fancy and warmth of color in

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

the love music, sensuous and sweet, but lack-
ing in distinction, that we look for in this
master. The sharp staccato chord that sym-
bolizes shooting is sensational. The close is
evidently suggested by Siegfried's Funeral
March. The garden music is from the second
act of Tristan and Isolde. Indeed, Wagner
is continually hinted at in the orchestration.
TschaTkowsky's freedom from Wagner's influ-
ence, as hitherto evidenced in his other and
more important works, leads us to surmise
that this is the effort of a beginner. It has
historical interest and shows us the dramatic
trend of the Russian's mind, but as absolute
music it is not many degrees removed from
the barbaric " 1 812" overture solennelle. It
was first played here in the autumn of 1 897
by the Symphony Society under Mr. Walter
Damrosch.

I still have left for review the Romio et
Juliette overture-fantaisie without opus num-
ber, the sixth symphony, op. 74, in B minor,
and the third piano concerto in E flat, op. 75.
The Jurgenson catalogue goes no further than
op. 74, so the piano concerto is posthumous.
An unpublished piano nocturne is announced
for early publication ; that ends the list

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A MODERN MUSIC LORD

As the Rom6o et Juliette was first played
here in 1876 it must have been composed
about the time of the first piano concerto,
perhaps later. It is evidently a work of the
composer in the first gorgeous outburst of
his genius. It is a magnificent love poem,
full of the splendors of passion and warring
hosts. How it strikes fire from the first firm
chord ! Imperial passion flames in it, and
the violins mount in burning octaves. The
Juliette theme is sealed with the pure lips
of a loving maid ; but I will spare you further
rhapsodizing.

The third piano concerto, like Beethoven's
fifth, is in the key of E flat, but there the
resemblance ends, although the work is un-
usually vigorous and built on a theme even
shorter than the one used in the B flat minor
piano concerto. The posthumous concerto
is really a fantasy for piano and orchestra
with a nine page cadenza in the first part.
It is not as long as its predecessors, and the
subsidiary themes are very amiable and fetch-
ing. I should dearly love to hear it if only
for the orchestration, hints of which appear
in the second piano part. Fantastic in form,

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

it has one rattling good theme in the allegro
molto vivace, a theme that is rhythmically
related to one in Moniuszko's opera, Halka.
It is very Slavic, very piquant. The com-
poser juggles with three subjects, and the
cadenza is utilized as a working out section.
This is extremely florid, possibly made so to
suit the style of Louis Dimmer, to whom the
concerto is dedicated. The last movement
is a more brilliant restatement of the first
themes, and the song motive, this time in
the tonic — it was in G at first — is very rich
and melodious. The coda, a vivacissimo, is
muscular and brief.

As far as the piano partition may be
Judged, this last composition of TschaT-
kowsky's does not build, neither does it de-
tract from his fame. It smells a little of the
piece made to order, although I may be mis-
taken in this. In any case I hope someone
will play it ; it is not very difficult or trying
to one's endurance. Its technical physiog-
nomy resembles that of its brethren ; there
are octaves, chord passages in rapid flight
and there are many scales; rather an un-
usual quantity in this composer's piano
music. The cadenza is especially brilliant.

My first impression of the sixth sym-
phony, the ** Suicide," as it has been called,

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A MODERN MUSIC LORD

has never been altered; the last movement
is TschaTkowsky at his greatest, but the other
movements do not "hang" together; in a
word, there is a lack of organic unity.
Tschalkowsky is never a formalist. He works
more freely in the loosely built symphonic
poem, the symphonic poem born of Berlioz,
although fathered by Liszt Yet we look for
certain specific qualities in the symphonic
form, and one of them is homogeneity.

Consider this last symphony. The open-
ing allegro has for its chief subject a short
phrase in B minor, a rather commonplace
phrase, a phrase with an upward inflection,
that you may And in Mendelssohn and a half
dozen other classical writers. The accent is
strong to harshness, and after the composer
considers that he has sufficiently impressed
it upon your memory the entrance of an epi-
sodical figure leads you captive to the second
theme in D. Here is the romantic Russian
for you ! It is lovely, sensuous, suave. It is
the composer in his most melting mood, and
is the feminine complement to the abrupt mas-
culinity of the first subject. Atop of it we
soon get some dancing rhythms under a scale-
like theme, and then the working out begins.

The second subject is first treated, and
this is followed by an exposition of the first

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

subject, and in thundering tones and with
all the harmonic and rhythmic skill the com<
poser knows how to employ so well. There
is constant use of scales for contrapuntal
purposes, and the basses shake the very fir-
mament. It is the old TschaTkowsky —
sombre, dreary and savage. The mood does
not last long. The sky lightens with a return
of the cantabile, and then comes the schluss.
This is wonderfully made and very effective.
The movement ends peacefully. Its color
throughout is beautiful, leaning toward the
darker tints of the orchestral palette.

But the second and third movements are
enigmas to me.

Raff introduced a gay march into a sym-
phony, Beethoven a funeral march and TschaT-
kowsky penned a lugubrious valse for his fifth
symphonic work; but the second movement
of this B minor symphony is in five-four
time and sounds like a perverted valse, but
one that could not be danced to unless vou
owned three legs. It is delightfully piquant
music and the touch of Oriental color in
the trio, or second part — for the movement
is not a scherzo — produced by a pedal
point on D is very felicitous. The third
movement starts in with a Mendelssohnian
figure in triplets and scherzo-likei but this

136

A MODERN MUSIC LORD

soon merges into a march. The ingenuity
displayed in scoring, the peculiar and re-
curring accent, which again suggests the
East, helps the movement to escape the
commonplace.

But why these two movements in a sym-
phony? They are episodical, fragmentary
and seem intended for a suite. Can it be
possible that TschaYkowsky has only given
us a mosaic — has made a short rosary of
numbers that bear no active relationship!
As well believe this as strive to reconcile
these four movements. Dr. Dvorak's words
return with peculiar force after listening to
this symphony. ** Tschatkowsky cannot write
a symphony ; he only makes suites."

Therefore the most tremendous surprise
follows in the finale. Since the music of the
march in the Eroica, since the mighty
funeral music in Siegfried, there has been
no such death music as this " adagio lamen-
toso/' this astounding torso, which Michel
Angelo would have understood and Dante
wept over. It is the very apotheosis of mor-
tality, and its gloomy accents, poignant melody
and harmonic coloring make it one of the
most impressive of contributions to mortuary
music. It sings of the entombment of a
nation, and is incomparably noble, dignified

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

and unspeakably tender. It is only at the
close that the rustling of the basses conveys a
sinister shudder ; the shudder of the Dies Irae
when the heavens shall be a fiery scroll and the
sublime trump sound its summons to eternity.

No Richard Strauss realism is employed to
describe the halting heart beats; no gasps
in the woodwind to indicate the departing
breath; no imitative figure to tell us that
clods of earth arc falling heavily on the in-
visible coffin; but the atmosphere of grief,
immutable, eternal, hovers about like a huge
black-winged angel.

The movement is the last word in the pro-
foundly pessimistic philosophy which comes
from the East to poison and embitter the
religious hopes of the West. It has not the
consolations of Nirvana, for that offers us
a serene non-existence, an absorption into
Neint. Tschatkowsky's music is a page torn
from Ecclesiastes, it is the cosmos in crape.
This movement will save the other three
from oblivion. The scoring throughout is
masterly.

Whether or not the composer had a premo-
nition of his approaching death is a question
I gladly leave to sentimental psychologists.

Again we must lament the death of the
master. What might his ninth symphony

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A MODERN MUSIC LORD

not have been! He was slain in the vety
plenitude of his powers, at a time when
to his glowing temperament was added a
moderation born of generous cosmopolitan
culture.

Little remains to be added. All who met
TschaYkowsky declare that he was a polished,
charming man of the world ; like all Russians,
a good linguist, and many sided in his tastes.
But not in his musical taste. He disliked
Brahms heartily, and while Brahms appre-
ciated his music, the Russian shrugged his
shoulders, and frankly confessed that for
him the Hamburg composer was a mere
music-maker. In a conversation with Henry
Holden Huss he praised Saint-Saens, and then
naively admitted that it was a pity an artist
whose facture was so fine had so little
original to say. He reverenced the classics,
Mozart more than Beethoven, and had an
enormous predilection for Berlioz, Liszt and
Wagner. This was quite natural, and we
find Rubinstein, with whom TschaYkowsky
studied, upbraiding him for his defection from
German classic standards. Curiously enough,
Wagner did not play such a part in Tschat-
kowsky's music as one might imagine. The
Russian's operas were made after old-fashioned
models and, despite his lyric and dramatic

139

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

talent, have never proved successful. He
dramatically expressed himself best in the
orchestra, and totally lacked Wagner's power
of projecting dramatic images upon the
stage.

As regards the suicide story, I can only
repeat that while it has been officially denied,
it has never been quite discredited. Kapell-
meister Wallner of St. Petersburg, a relative
by marriage of Tolstoy, and an intimate of
TschaYkowsky, told me that his nearest friends
had the matter hushed up. He is supposed
to have died of cholera after drinking a glass
of unfiltered water, but his stomach was never
subjected to chemical analysis. The fact that
his mother died of the same malady lent color
to the cholera story. It is all very sad.

Tschatkowsky lived, was unhappy, com-
posed and died, and he will be forgotten.
Let us enjoy him while we may and until
** all the daughters of music shall be brought
low."

140

Ill

RICHARD STRAUSS AND
NIETZSCHE

In discussing Richard Strauss' symphonic
poem, Also Sprach Zarathustra, its musi-
cal, technical, emotional and aesthetic sig-
nificance must be considered, — if I may
be allowed this rather careless grouping of
categories. The work itself is fertile in arous
ing ideas of a widely divergent sort. It is
difficult to speak of it without drifting into
the dialectics of the Nietzsche school. It is
as absolute music that it should be critically
weighed, and that leads into the somewhat
forbidding field of the nature of thematic
material. Has Strauss, to put it briefly, a
right, a precedent to express himself in
music in a manner that sets at defiance the
normal eight bar theme; that scorns eu-
phony ; that follows the curve of the poem
or drama or thesis he is illustrating, just as
Wagner followed the curve of his poetic
text? The question is a fascinating one and

141

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

a dangerous one, fascinating because of its
complexity, and also because any argument
that attempts to define the limits of absolute
music is an argument that is dangerous.

Berlioz, Liszt and Wagner, three heroes of
poetic realism, pushed realism to the verge of
the ludicrous, according to their contempo-
raries. Liszt was especially singled out as
the champion of making poems in music,
making pictures in music, and giving no
more clue to their meaning than the title.
Liszt*s three great disciples, Saint-Saens,
TschaYkowsky and Richard Strauss, have
dared more than their master. In Saint-
Saens we find a genial cleverness and a
mastery of the decorative and more super-
ficial side of music — all this allied to ^
charming fancy and great musicianship. Yet
his stories deal only with the external aspects
of his subject. Omphale bids Hercules spin,
and the orchestra is straightway transformed
into a huge wheel and hums as the giant
stoops over the distaff. Death dances with
rattling xylophonic bones', Phaeton circles
about the Sun God, and we hear his curved
chariot and fervent pace. But the psy^
chology is absent. We learn little of the
thoughts or feelings of these subjects, and
indeed they have none, being mere fabled

142

STRAUSS AND NIETZSCHE

abstractions clothed in the pictorial coun-
terpoint of the talented Frenchman.

In TschaYkowsky, the lights are turned on
more fiercely; his dramatic characterization
is marvellous when one considers that the
human element is absent from his mechanism.
He employs only the orchestra, and across
its tonal tapestry there flit the impassioned
figures of Romeo and Juliet, the despairing
apparition of Francesca da Rimini, and the
stalking of Hamlet and Manfred, gloomy,
revengeful, imperious, thinking and sorrow-
ing men.

Tschatkowsky went far, but Richard Strauss
has dared to go further. He first individual-
ized, and rather grotesquely, Don Juan,
Til Eulenspiegel, Macbeth; but in Death
and Apotheosis and in Also Sprach
Zarathustra he has attempted almost the
impossible; he has attempted the deline-
ation of thought, not musical thought, but
philosophical ideas in tone. He has dis-
claimed this attempt, but the fact neverthe-
less remains that the various divisions and
subdivisions of his extraordinary work are at-
tempts to seize not only certain elusive psy-
chical states, but also to paint pure idea —
the " Reine vernunft " of the metaphysicians.
Of course he has failed, yet his failure

143

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

marks a great step in the mastery over
the indefiniteness of music. Strauss* Ger-
man brain with its grasp of the essentials
of philosophy, allied to a vigorous emotional
nature and a will and imagination that stop
at nothing, enabled him to throw into high
relief his excited mental states. That these
states took unusual melodic shapes, that there
is the suggestion of abnormality, was to be
expected ; for Strauss has made a flight into
a country in which it is almost madness to
venture. He has, on his own opinions and
purely by the aid of a powerful reasoning
imagination, sought to give an emotional
garb to pure abstractions. Ugliness was
bound to result but it is characteristic ugli-
ness. There is profound method in the mad-
ness of Strauss, and I beg his adverse critics
to pause and consider his aims before entirely
condemning him.

The object of music is neither to preach
nor to philosophize, but the range of the art
is vastly enlarged since the days of music of
the decorative pattern type. Beethoven filled
it with his overshadowing passion, and shall we
say ethical philosophy? Schumann and the
romanticists gave it color, glow and bizarre
passion ; Wagner moulded its forms into rare
dramatic shapes, and Brahms has endeavored

144

STRAUSS AND NIETZSCHE

to fill the old classic bottles with the new wine
of the romantics. All these men seemed to
dare the impossible, according to their con-
temporaries, and now Strauss has shifted the
string one peg higher; not only does he
demand the fullest intensity of expression
but he insists on the presence of pure idea,
and when we consider the abstract nature of
the first theme of Beethoven's fifth sym-
phony, when we recall the passionate inflec-
tion of the opening measures of Tristan and
Isolde, who shall dare criticise Strauss, who
shall say to him, Thus far and no farther?

Richard Strauss said of his work when it
was produced in Berlin, December, 1896: " I
did not intend to write philosophical music
or portray Nietzsche's great work musically.
I meant to convey musically an idea of the
development of the human race from its
origin, through the various phases of devel-
opment, religious as well as scientific, up to
Nietzsche's idea of the Uebermensch. The
whole symphonic poem is intended as my
homage to the genius of Nietzsche, which
found its greatest exemplification in his book,
Thus Spake Zarathustra. "
10 14s

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

For me the beginning is like Michel
Angelo's Last Judgment, or the birth of a
mighty planet; its close has the dreary
quality of modern art, profoundly sad and
enigmatic. There is no God for Strauss,
there is no God in Tschatkowsky's last sym-
phony and there was no God for Nietzsche,
no God but self.

You have Strauss* point of view, have you
not? He disclaims making any attempt to
set philosophy to tones; indeed Wagner's
failure in Tristan and the Ring to ensnare
Schopenhauer's metaphysic was sufficient
warning for the younger man. The whole
undertaking stands and falls upon the ques-
tion : Is Also Sprach Zarathustra good music?
I set aside now all considerations of orches-
tral technic — a technic that leaves Berlioz,
Liszt and Wagner gaping aghast in the rear
— and propose only the consideration of
Strauss' thematic workmanship. Let it be
at once conceded that he does not make
beautiful music, that his melodies are un-
melodious, even ugly, when subjected to
the classic or romantic tests — call it clas-
sic and be done, for Schumann, Chopin,
Liszt and Wagner are classics — and we
have now further narrowed the argument
to a question of the characteristic or vei istic

146

STRAUSS AND NIETZSCHE

in melody making, and this is the crux of
the situation.

Has Richard Strauss, then, made charac-
teristic music, and how has its character
conformed with his own dimly outlined pro-
gramme — not Dr. Riemann's elaborate ana-
lytical scheme?

** I did not intend to write philosophical
music,** he said. Of course not; it were
impossible; but some of the raw elements
of philosophy are in the poem ; keen, over-
whelming logic, sincerity, orbic centrality,
and hints of the microcosm and the macro-
cosm of music. Strauss set out to accomplish
what has never before been accomplished in
or out of the world, and he has failed, and
the failure is glorious, so glorious that it
will blind a generation before its glory is
apprehended; so glorious that it blazes a
new turn in the path made straight by Bee-
thoven, Berlioz, Liszt, and Wagner!

Wagner sought the aid of other arts, and
sang his Schopenhauer in gloomy tones;
Strauss, relying on the sheer audacity of the
instrumental army, chants of the cosmos, of
the birth of atoms, of the religious loves,
hates, works, doubts, joys and sorrows of
the atom, would fain deluge us with an
epitome of the world processes, and so has

147

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

failed. Bat what colossal daring I What an
imagination ! What poetic invention !

The authors of Genesis, of the Book ol
Job, of the Songs of Solomon, the Apoca-
lypse, the Iliad, the Sermon on the Mount,
the Koran, the Divine Comedy, Don Quixote,
Shakespeare's plays, Faust, the Ninth Sym-
phony and Tristan, all rolled into one would
have failed too, before such a stupendous
task.

Now, perhaps we may reach a comparative
estimate of the glory involved in Richard
Strauss' half-mad, idealistic failure.

Putting aside Riemann as a hopelessly in-
volved guide — a baleful ignis-fatuus in a
midnight forest, — Strauss* poem impressed
me, after three hearings, as the gigantic
torso of an art work for the future. Eu-
phony was hurled to the winds, the
Addisonian ductility of Mozart, the Th^o-
phile Gautier coloring of Schumann, Cho-
pin's delicate romanticism, all were scorned
as not being truthful enough for the subject in
hand, and the subject is not a pretty or a senti-
mental one. Strauss, with his almost super-
human mastery of all schools, could have
written with ease in the manner of any of his
predecessors, but, like a new Empedocles on
iEtna, preferred to leap into the dark, or

148

STRAUSS AND NIETZSCHE

rather into the fiery crater of truth. In few
bars did I discover an accent of insincerity,
a making of music for the mere sake of
music. He has leaped where Liszt feared
to venture, and Strauss is Liszt's descendant
as well as Wagner's. He cast aside all make-
shifts, even the human voice, which is the
human interest, and dared, with complicated
virtuosity, to tell the truth — his truth, be it
remembered — and so there is little likelihood
of his being understood in this century.

It were madness to search for Nietzsche in
Strauss — that is, in this score. It is un-
Nietzsche music — Nietzsche who discarded
Wagner for Bizet, Beethoven for Mozart.
Schopenhauer, it may be remembered, laughed
at Wagner the musician, played the flute and
admired Rossini !

If Nietzsche, clothed in his most brilliant
mindy had sat in the Metropolitan Opera
House of New York City on the occasion
of the first performance of his poem by the
Boston Symphony Orchestra, December,
1897, h^ would probably have cried aloud:
" I have pronounced laughter holy," and then
laughed himself into the madhouse. Poor,
unfortunate, marvellous Nietzsche ! But it is
Strauss mirroring his own moods after feed-
ing full on Nietzsche, and we must be content

149

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

to swallow his title, ** Also Sprach Zarathus-
tra," when in reality it is " Thus Spake Rich-
ard Strauss ! "

The first theme — Zarathustra's, intoned
by four trumpets — is solemnly prodigious;
probably the dwellers in the rear world theme
meant something to the composer. You see
he has us on the hip ; either accept his sym-
bols or not; you have your choice, you be-
lievers in programme music; to me it was
lugubriously shuddersome. I liked the beau-
tiful A flat melody ; it was almost a melody,
and the yearning motive was tremendously
exciting. In the section, Joys and Passions,
the violins and 'celli sweep in mountainous
curves of passion — never except in Wagner
has this molten episode been equalled — and
then the ground began to slip under my feet
I grasped at the misty shadows of the grave
song, and the tortuous and wriggling five
voice fugue in Science seemed like some
loathsome, footless worm. The dance chap-
ter is shrilly bacchanalian. It may be the
Over-Man dancing, but no human ever trod
on such scarlet tones.

And the waltz melody ! why, it is as com-
mon as mud, and intentionally so, but it is
treated with Promethean touches. When I
reached the part called the Song of the

ISO

STRAUSS AND NIETZSCHE

Night Wanderer, I renounced Bach, Bee-
thoven and Brahms and became maddeningly
intoxicated — not with joy, but with doubt,
despair and defiance. Never shall I forget
that screaming trumpet as it cut jaggedly
across the baleful gloom I Sinister beyond
compare was the atmosphere, and I could
have cried aloud with Dante:

"Lo,.thisisDis!"

I understood the divine laughter of Hell,
and it surely was Dis that held its sides and
cackled infernally I When we had reached
the rim of eternity, " the under side of noth-
ing," as Daudet would have said, there the
"twelve strokes of the heavy, humming
bell " :

One I
O Man, take heed I

Two!
What speaks the deep midnight ?

Three I
I have slept, I have slept ^

Founl
I have awaked out of a deep dream : —

Five!
The world is deep,

Sixl
And deeper than the day thought

Seven I
Deep 11 its woe — »

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Eight !
Joy, deeper still than heart sorrow t

Nine!
Woe speaks : Vanish!

Ten!

Yet all joy wants eternity —

Eleven !
Wants deep, deep eternity !

Twelve !

Where is Hell-Breughel, painter, or Kapell-
meister Kreisler, composer, after this wel-
tering symphony of sin, sorrow and cruel
passions? Their symbolism seems crude and
childish, although Hoffman's musician was
certainly a forerunner of Strauss.

There is one thing I cannot understand.
If the Wagnerians and the Lisztianer threw
overboard old forms in obedience to their
masters, why can they not accept the logical
outcome of their theories in Strauss? If you
pitch form to the devil, there must be a devil
to pitch it to. Strauss is the most modern of
the devils, and to the old classical group he
would be the reductio ad absurduni of the
movement that began with Beethoven. Do
you hear? Beethoven! To assert that his
shoulders are not broad enough to wear the
mantle of Liszt, I can only ask why? Liszt
seems jejune when it comes to covering an

152

STRAUSS AND NIETZSCHE

orchestral canvas of the size of Strauss*s.
Strauss is his natural musical son, and the son
has quite as much to say thematically as the
father, while in the matter of brush brilliancy,
massing of color, startling figure drawing —
witness Don Juan and Til Eulenspiegel —
and swift thinking, Strauss is easily the
superior. He has not Wagner's genius ; far
from it ; yet, as Otto Floersheim said : " Also
Sprach Zarathustra" is "the greatest score
penned by man." It is a cathedral in archi-
tectonic and is dangerously sublime, dan-
gerously silly, with grotesque gargoyles,
hideous flying abutments, exquisite trace-
ries, fantastic arches half gothic, half infer-
nal, huge and resounding spaces, gorgeous
facades and heaven splitting spires. A
mighty structure, and no more to be under-
stood at one, two or a dozen visits than the
Kolner Dom.

It lacks only simplicity of style; it is
tropical, torrential, and in it there is the
note of hysteria. It is complex with the
diseased complexity of the age, and its
strivings are the agonized strivings of a
morbid Titan. Truthful? aye, horribly so,
for it shows us the brain of a great man,
overwrought by the vast emotional problems
of his generation.

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Also Sprach Zarathustra should be played
once every season, and the audience be
limited to poets, musicians and madmen.
The latter, being Over-Men, would grasp its
sad truths. And as I write I hear the key of
B major and the key of C major and those
three cryptic sinister Cs pizzicato at the
close, and ask myself if, after all, Nietzsche
and Strauss are not right, " Eternity 's sought
by all delight — eternity deep — by all
delight."

Musically it is a symphonic poem of
rather loose construction and as to outline;
but rigorously logical in its presentment of
thematic material, and in its magnificent
weaving of the contrapuntal web. There is
organic unity, and the strenuousness of the
composer's ideas almost blind his hearers to
their tenuity, and sometimes a squat ugliness.
Strauss has confessed to not following a
definite scheme, a precise presentation of
the bacchantic philosophy of Nietzsche.
Nietzsche was a lyrical rhapsodist, a literary
artist first, perhaps a philosopher afterward.
It is the lyric side of him that Strauss seeks
to interpret. Simply as absolute music it is

'54

STRAUSS AND NIETZSCHE

astounding enough — astounding in its scope,
handling and execution. It is not as realistic
as you imagine, not as realistic for instance
as the Don Juan and Til Eulenspiegel.
Strauss is here an idealist striving after the
impossible, yet compassing the hem of gran-
deur, and often a conscious seeker after the
abnormally ugly. Yet one hesitates to call
his an abnormally evil brain. Abnormal it
may be in its manifestation of eccentric
power but it is not evil in its tendency, and a
brain that can rear such a mighty tone struc-
ture is to be seriously dealt with.

As a mere matter of musical politics I do
not care for programme music. Wagner and,
before him, Beethoven, fixed its boundaries.
Liszt, in his Faust symphony, and Wagner,
in his Faust overture, read into pure music as
much meaning as its framework could endure
without calling in the aid of the sister arts.
Strauss pushed realism to a frantic degree,
giving us in his Death and Apotheosis the
most minute memoranda. But in Also
Sprach Zarathustra he has deserted surface
imitations. The laughter of the convales-
cent, and the slow, creeping fugue betray his
old tendencies. There is an uplifting roar in
the opening that is really elemental. Those
tremendous chords alone proclaim Strauss a

1 55

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

man of genius, and their naked simplicity
gives him fee simple to the heritage of
Beethoven. But this grandeur is not main-
tained throughout.

The close is enigmatic, and the juggling
with the tonality is fruitful of suspense, be-
wilderment. Yet it does not plunge the
listener into the gloomy, abysmal gulf of
TschaYkowsky's last movement of the B minor
symphony. It is not so simple nor yet so
cosmical. Strauss has the grand manner at
times, but he cannot maintain it as did Brahms
in his Requiem, or TschaYkowsky in his last
symphonic work.

The narrative and declamatory style is
often violently interrupted by passages of
great descriptive power; the development
of the themes seems coincidental with some
programme in Strauss' mind and the contra-
puntal ingenuity displayed is just short of the
miraculous. There is a groaning and a tra-
vailing spirit, a restless, uneasy aspiring which
is Faust-like, and suggests a close study of
Eine Faust Overture, but there is more
versatility of mood, more hysteria and more
febrile agitation in the Strauss score. It is a
sheaf of moods bound together with rare skill,
and in the most cacophonous portions there
is no suspicion of writing for the exposition of

156

STRAUSS AND NIETZSCHE

wilful eccentricity. There are reminiscences
more in color than form of Tristan, of
Walkiire, Die Meistersinger, and once there
was a suggestion of Gounod, but the com-
poser's style is his own despite his Wag-
nerian affiliations.

Strauss is a man of rare and powerful
imagination ; the tentacles of his imagination
are restlessly feeling and thrusting forward
and grappling with material on most danger-
ous territory. The need of expression of
definite modes of thought, of more * definite
modes of emotion, is a question that has per-
plexed every great composer. With such
an apparatus as the modern orchestra — in
Strauss's hands an eloquent, plastic and pal-
pitating instrument — much may be ventured
and, while the composer has not altogether
succeeded — it is almost a superhuman task
he sets himself to achieve — he has made us
think seriously of a new trend in the art of
discoursing music. Formalism is abandoned
— Strauss moves by episodes ; now furi-
ously swifl, now ponderously lethargic, and
one is lost in amazement at the loftiness, the
solidity and general massiveness of his struc-
ture. The man's scholarship is so profound,
almost as profound as Brahms'; his genius
for the orchestra so marked, his color and

>57

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

rhythmic sense so magnificently developed
that the general effect of his rhetoric is
perhaps too blazingly brilliant. He has
more to say than Berlioz and says it bet-
ter, is less magniloquent and more poetical
than Liszt, is as clever as Saint-Saens, but
in thematic invention he is miles behind
Wagner.

His melodies, it must be confessed, are not
always remarkable or distinguished in quality,
setting aside the question of ugliness alto-
gether. But the melodic curve is big and
passional. Strauss can be tender, dramatic,
bizarre, poetic and humorous, but the noble
art of simplicity he sadly lacks — for art it is.
His themes in this poem are often simple ;
indeed the waltz is distinctly commonplace,
but it is not the Doric, the bald simplicity of
Beethoven. It is rather a brutal plainness of
speech.

Strauss is too deadly in earnest to trifle or
to condescend to ear tickling devices. The
tremendous sincerity of the work will be its
saving salt for many who violently disagree
with the whole scheme. The work is scored
for one piccoli-flute, three flutes (the third of
which is interchangeable with a second pic*
colo), three oboes, one English horn, one E
flat clarinet, two ordinary clarinets, one bass

158

STRAUSS AND NIETZSCHE

clarinet, three bassoons, one double bassoon,
six horns, four trumpets, three trombones,
two bass tubas, one pair of kettledrums, bass
drum, cymbals, trian^U*, Glockenspiel, one
low bell, two harpsi the usual strings, and
organ.

«5»

THE GREATER CHOPIN

"As-TU r^fl^chi combien nous sommes
organises pour le Malheur"? A fatal fleet of
names sails before us evoked by Flaubert's
pitiless and pitiful question in a letter ad-
dressed to George Sand. She could have
answered for at least two — two names writ
large in the book of fate opposite her own —
Frederic Chopin and Alfred De Musset.
Androgynous creature that she was, she
filled her masculine maw with the most deli-
cate bonnes bouches that chance vouchsafed
her. Can't you see her, with the gaze of a
sibyl, crunching such a genius as Chopin, he
exhaling his melodious sigh as he expired?
But this attrition of souls filled the world
with art, for after all what was George Sand
but a skilful literary midwife, who delivered
men of genius and often devoured their souls
after forcing from them in intolerable agony
the most exquisite music? They sowed in
sorrow, in sorrow they reaped.

ibo

THE GREATER CHOPIN

It is not always meet and just that we
exhibit to the gaze of an incurious world our
intellectual Lares and Penates. There is
something almost indecent in the way we
rend our mental privacies, our heart sanctu-
aries. To the artist in prose, the temptation
to be utterly subjective is chilled by the
thought of the sacrifice. Hamlet-like, he
may feel that wearing his heart on his sleeve
will never compensate him for the holiness of
solitude, no matter if the heart he dissects be
of unusual color and splendor. Far happier
is the tone poet. Addressing a selected
audience, appealing to sensibilities firm and
tastes exquisitely cultured, he may still re-
main secluded. His musical phrases are
cryptic and even those who run fastest may
not always read. The veil that hangs hazily
about all great art works is the Tanit veil
that obscures the holy of holies from the
gaze of the rude, the blasphemous. The
golden reticence of the music artist saves
him from the mortifying misunderstandings
of the worker in verse, and spares him the
pang which must come from the nudity of
the written word.

I have worshipped, and secretly, those
artists in whose productions there is a savor
of the strange. I loved Poe, although I
II i6i

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

seldom read him to-day. I thought Chopin
the last word in music, until I heard Tristan
and Isolde. I can never shake off my won-
der for Flaubert's great chiselled art, and
I would give a wilderness of Rubens for one
Whistler. I know this may be a confession
of aesthetic narrowness, but I never could
bow down to overgrown reputations, nor
does the merely big excite my nerves. In
this matter I agree unreservedly with Mr.
Finck. I would rather read Foe's Silence
than all the essays of Macaulay, and can
echo George Sand, who wrote that one tiny
prelude of Chopin is worth all the trumpet-
ing of Meyerbeer. It was in this spirit I
approached Chopin years ago; it is in the
same Spirit I regard him to-day. But while
my vantage ground has not perceptibly
shifted, I descry a Chopin other than the
melancholy dreamer I knew a decade ago.
My glances are imprisoned by new and even
more fascinating aspects of this extraordinary
man and poet. It is of the greater Chopin I
would speak ; the Chopin not of yester-year,
but the Chopin of to-morrow.

The old Chopin is gone for most of us.
The barrel organ — not Mallarm^'s organ,
but that deadly parallel for pianists, the
piano-organ, with its super-Janko technic —

162

THE GREATER CHOPIN

now drives the D flat valse across its brassy
gamut helter-skelter. The E flat nocturne
is drummed by schoolgirls as a study in
chord playing for the left hand, and the
mazourkas — heaven protect us ! — what have
not these poor dances, with their sprightly
rhythms, now wilted, been subjected to;
with what strange oaths have they not been
played ? Alas ! the Chopin romance is van-
ished. His studies follow those of the prosaic
Clementi, and Du Maurier nabbed one of
his impromptus for Trilby. Poor Chopin!
devoured by those ravening wolves, the con-
cert pianists, tortured by stupid pupils and
smeared with the kisses of sentimentalists,
well may you cry aloud from the heights of
Parnassus, " Great Jove, deliver me from my
music ! "

What is left us in all this furious carnage,
what undefiled in this continuous rape, this
filching of a man's spiritual goods? Some
few works unassailed, thanks to the master —
some noble compositions whose sun-smitten
summits are at once a consolation and an
agony. To strive, to reach those wonderful
peaks of music is granted but to the few.
Even that bird of prey and pedals, the pro-
fessional piano reciter, avoids a certain Cho-
pin, not so much from instinctive reverence,

163

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

but because of self-interest. He under-
stands not, and also knows full well that his
audiences do not. This hedges the new
Chopin from cheap, vulgar commerce.

I have been criticised for asserting that in
Chopin's later works may be found the germ of
the entire modern harmonic scheme. It was
not in the use of the chord of the tenth alone
that Chopin was a path-breaker. Even in his
first book of studies may be found a melodic
and harmonic scheme, without which the
whole modern apparatus of composition would
not be as it is now. Does this sound daring?
Come, put it to the test ! That wonderful up-
ward inflection which we look upon as Wag-
ner's may be found in the G sharp minor
part of the C minor study in opus lo. Look
at it ! Sift its significance and then revert to
Isolde's Liebestod, or Wotan's entrance in
the third act of Die Walkiire. There is
the nub of the entire system of modern emo-
tional melody. Take all the Etudes and what
treasures do we not find? The lovely Fan-
taisie-polonaise, op. 6i, has an introduction
which is marvellous and which will sound new
a century hence. There is a kernel of a
figure that will surprise the Wagnerite who
knows his Ring. I speak of a triplet figure
in sixteenths in the introduction. It was

164

THE GREATER CHOPIN

the late Anton Seidl who first called my
attention to the " Chopinisms " of the won-
derful love-duet in the second act of Tris-
tan. He said Wagner had laughed about
the coloring. If Wagner is the oak tree,
then Chopin is the acorn of the latter-day
music.

What is this new Chopin I pretend to see?
Or is it only as the soul in Browning's poem,
All that I Know of a certain Star? Does
my Chopin star dart now red, now blue, for
me alone? Chopin left us four ballades and
a fantaisie in F minor, which is a tremendous
ballade, although not in the traditional bal-
lade form. But it has unmistakably the
narrative tone; it tells an overwhelmingly
dramatic story. Yet of the four ballades,
who dare play the first and second in G
minor and A flat? They are hopelessly vul-
garized. They have been butchered to make
a concert goer's holiday. The G minor, full
of dramatic fire and almost sensual expres-
sion, is a whirlwind ; unsexed by women and
womanish men, it is a byword, a reproach.
Little wonder that Liszt shuddered when
asked to listen to this abused piece. As for
the A flat ballade, I can say nothing. Grace-
ful, charming, it appeals even to the lovers of
music-hall ditties. It, too, has been worried

i6s

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

to death. The one in F has been spared for
us. It is a thunderbolt in a bed of violets.
Its tempest, scurrying and growling, is for
the hand of the master. Let no mean disciple
juggle with its vast elemental tones. Disaster
dire will surely follow. And when the sky
has cleared how divinely azure it is ! The lilt
of the breezes with thin thunder in the dis-
tance closes a page that is immortal.

When young I had no god but Beethoven,
and all other gods were strange. To-day,
hemmed in by the noise and dust of the
daily traffic of life, I have a tiny sanctuary
which I visit betimes. In it is the fourth
ballade of Chopin, the one in the mode of F
minor. It is a masterpiece in piano litera-
ture as the Mona Lisa and Madame Bovary
are masterpieces in painting and prose. Its
melody, which probes the very coverts of
the soul, is haunting in its chromatic color-
ing, and then that fruitful pause in half notes,
the prelude to the end! How it fires the
imagination; how unlike the namby-pamby
Chopin of the school-room and the critics !

The Etudes are beyond the limit of this
paper. I can only say that they are enor-
mously misunderstood and misread. Studies
in moods, as well as in mechanism, they are
harnessed with the dull, unimaginative crea-

1 66

THE GREATER CHOPIN

tures of the conservatory curriculum, and so
in the concert room we miss the flavor, the
heroic freedom of the form. Who plays the
C minor in the opus 25? Who ever gives us
with true bravoura that dazzling drive of
notes, the A minor, the second of the tonality
in the same book ? De Pachmann plays the
study in thirds, but it is only a study, not a
poem. When will these series of palpitating
music pictures be played with all their range
of emotional dynamics ?

The impromptus are almost denied us. The
fantaisie impromptu and the A flat, are they
not commonplaces, seldom played beautifully.^
A greater Chopin is in the one in F sharp,
the second. There is the true impromptu
spirit, the wandering, vagrant mood, the rest-
less outpouring of fancy. It is delicious.
The G flat is practically undiscovered. Of
the mazourkas, the impish, morbid, gay, sour,
sweet little dances, I need not speak. They
are a sealed book for most pianists; and if
you have not the savor of the Slav in you you
should not touch them. Yet Chopin has
done some great things in this form. Think
of the three or four in C sharp minor, the one
in B flat minor, the curiously insistent one in
B minor and that sad, funereal mazourka in A
minor, the last composition Chopin put on

167

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

paper. The singular idea of the last named,
almost a fixed one, its hectic gayety and
astounding gloom show us the sick brain of
the dying man. But it is not upon these
works I would dwell. The new, the larger
Chopin will be known to posterity by the
three great polonaises in F sharp minor,
in A flat and the fantaisie polonaise. What
a wealth of fantasy there is in opus 6i ! Its
restless tonality, the marked beauty of the
first theme, the almost vaporous treatment,
the violent mood changes and the richness of
the harmonies place this work among the
elect. The F sharp minor polonaise and the
two in E flat minor and C minor contain
some strong, virile writing. They need men,
not pianists, to play them.

Professor Frederick Niecks calls the F
sharp minor polonaise "pathologic," and
Stanislaw Przybyszewski, that curious, half-
mad genius who, like Verlaine, has seen the
inside of prisons, has written surprisingly of
the polonaise; indeed, he is said to play it
well, and has coupled the composer's name
with Nietzsche's in his strange brochure. The
Psychology of the Individual. To me the
piece far surpasses in grandeur all of Chopin's
polonaises, even the " Heroic," with its thun-
derous cannon and rattling of horses' hoofs.

i68

THE GREATER CHOPIN

It may be morbid, but it is also magnificent
The triplets in eighth notes in the introduc-
tion gradually work up to a climax of great
power before the theme enters in single
notes. Soon these are discarded for octaves
and chords and do not occur again. The
second subject in D flat is less drastic, less
fantastic, and also less powerful. There is
epical breadth in that beginning, and at each
reiteration it grows bigger, more awful, until
it overflows the limits of the keyboard. That
strange intermezzo in A, which comes before
the mazourka, is an enigma for most of us.
It seems at first irrelevant, but its orchestral
intent is manifest, and it leads to the D flat
theme now transposed to C sharp minor and
full of the blackest despair. If you play the
thirty-second notes in octaves more color
is obtained. The mazourka which follows
tempted Liszt to extravagant panegyric. Its
brace of notes, thirds and sixths, are lovely in
accent and hue, but do not become languish-
ing in your tempo, or the episode turns
sugary and sentimental. With an almost
ferocious burst the polonaise is reached, and
again begins that elemental chant, which
grows huger in rancorous woe until the
bottom of the pit is reached, and then with-
out a gleam of light the work ends in a coda,

169

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

with mutterings like curses of the polonaise
theme, and only in the very last bar comes
the relief of a crackling and brilliant F sharp
in octaves.

Pathologic in a sense it is, for it makes its
primary appeal to the nerves, but it is won-
derful music, though depressing. It hurts
the very pulp of one's sensibilities, yet it is
never sensational. I am reminded of Salvator
Rosa's rugged, sullen and barbarous land-
scapes with a modern figure in the fore-
ground, agitated, distracted, suicidal; in a
word, something that paint and canvas can
never suggest.

The nocturnes are sometimes beneath con-
tempt. When I hear a Chopin nocturne
played on the fiddle or 'cello I murmur
complainingly as I listen, for it irresistibly
reminds me of degraded beauty. There are
exceptions. The vandals have vouchsafed
us the one in C sharp minor, the gloomiest
and grandest of Chopin's moody canvases.
Its middle section is Beethovian in breadth.
Ah ! my friend, why do you take this piano
composer for a weakling? Why give him
over to the tough mercies of the Young Per-
son? I would sentence to a vat of boiling
oil, that is if I were the Sultan of Life, any
woman who presumed to touch a note of

170

THE GREATER CHOPIN

Chopin. They have decked the most virile
spirit of the age in petticoats, and upon his
head they have placed a Parisian bonnet.
They murdered him while he was alive, and
they have hacked and cut at him since his
death. If women must play the piano let
them stick to Bach and Beethoven. They
cannot hurt those gentlemen with their seduc-
tions and blandishments, their amblings and
jiggings. There are several other nocturnes
that will never appeal to hoi polloi. The
noble one in C minor, the fruity one in B and
the one in E, form a triad of matchless music.
They are not popular. The wonder-child
that came to us through the pink gates of the
dawn and was rocked to rhythmic dreams in
the berceuse has grown to be a brat of horrid
mien and muscular proportions. I will have
none of it. Its banal visage is cherished in
conservatories. Long may it howl, but not
for me!

The scherzi, the preludes, you cry! Ah!
at last we are getting upon solid ground.
The twenty-five preludes alone would make
good Chopin's claim to immortality. Such
range, such vision, such humanity! All
shades of feeling are divined, all depths and
altitudes of passion explored. If all Chopin,
all music, were to be destroyed, I should

171

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

plead for the preludes. The cameo stillness
of some of them is as soft-spoken sentences
in a cloister. Religious truly, but these
appeal less to me than those thunder-riven
visions in D minor, in B flat minor, in F
minor, in E flat minor. Surpassingly sweet
is the elegiac prelude in B flat. It is greater
than any of the Chopin nocturnes. Number
two, with its almost brutal quality and enig-
matic beginning, is for a rainy day — a day
when the soul is racked by doubts and de-
feats. It is shuddersome and sinister. About
it hovers the grisly something which we all
fear in the dark but dare not define. A ray
of sunshine, but a sun that slants in the west,
is the prelude in G. Why detail these mar-
vels in miniature, these great and cunningly
wrought thoughts ?

The embroideries of the barcarolle — a
more fully developed and dramatic nocturne^
— and the bolero are both more Polish than
Italian or Spanish. The fantaisie, opus 49,
is considered by many to be Chopin's most
perfect work. The grave, march-like intro-
duction, the climbing and insistent arpeggio
figures in triplets, the great song in F minor,
followed by the beautiful episode in double
notes and the climax of amazing power and
almost brutality, give us glimpses of the new

X7a

THE GREATER CHOPIN

Chopin. There is development, but only of
tonality — if such may be called development
— and the lento sostenuto is curt and very
sweet. The end is impressive. The entire
composition is larger in scope, its phrases
fuller breathed, and there is a massiveness
absent from much of the master's music. To
my own way of thinking this fantaisie, with
the F sharp minor polonaise, the F minor
ballade, the C sharp minor and B minor
scherzi, the D minor prelude, the sonatas in
B flat minor and B minor, and the C minor
study (opus 25), are Chopin at the top of his
powers.

Frederic Chopin bequeathed to the world
six solo scherzi. The four that comprise a
group are opus 20, in B minor, published
February, 1835; opus 31, in B flat minor,
published December, 1837; opus 39, in C
sharp minor, published October, 1840, and
opus 54, in E major, published December,
1843. The other two are to be found in his
second sonata, opus 35, and his third sonata,
opus 58. They are in the respective keys of
E flat minor and E flat major. These six
compositions are the finest evidences of Cho-
pin's originality, variety, power and deli*

173

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

cacy. The scherzo is not his ineition —
Beethoven and Mendelssohn anticipated him
— but he took the form, remodelled and
filled it with a surprisingly novel content,
although not altering its three-four measure.
We feel the humor of the Beethoven scherzo,
its swing, robustness and at times rude jollity.
In Mendelssohn one enjoys the lightness,
velocity and finish of his scherzando moods.
They contain, strictly speaking, more of the
truer scherzo idea than Chopin's. Mendels-
sohn's delicate sentiment of joyousness came
from the early Italian masters of the piano.
Rossini voiced this when he said, after hear-
ing a capriccio of Felix the Feminine, " ^a
sent de Scarlatti." Yet the Mendelssohn
piano pieces of this character are finely con-
sidered efforts, full of a certain gracious life
and a surface skimming of sentiment, like the
curved flight of a thin bird over shallow
waters.

But we enter a terrible and a beautiful
domain in the Chopin scherzi. Two only
have the lightness of touch, clarity of atmos-
phere and sweet gayety of the veritable
scherzo. The other four are fierce, grave,
sardonic, demoniacal, ironic, passionate, fiery,
hysterical and most melancholy. In some
the moods are almost pathologic; in some

174

THE GREATER CHOPIN

enigmatic; in all, the moods are magical.
The scherzo in E, opus 54, can be described
by no better or more commonplace a word
than delightful. It is delightful, sunny music,
and its swiftness, directness and sweep are
compelling. The five preluding bars of half
notes, unisono, at once strike the keynote of
optimism and sweet faith. What follows is
the ruffling of the tree-tops by warm south
winds. The upward little flight in E, begin-
ning at the seventeenth bar and in major
thirds and fourths, has been boldly utilized
by Saint-Saens in the scherzo of his G minor
piano concerto. The fanciful embroidery of
the single finger passages is not opaque as
in other of this master's compositions. A
sparkling, bubbling clarity, freedom, fresh-
ness, characterizes this scherzo so seldom
heard in our concert rooms. In emotional
content it is not deep ; it lies well within the
categories of the elegant and the capricious.
It contains on its fourth page an episode in
E which at first blush suggests the theme of
the valse in A flat, opus 42, with its inter-
minglement of duple and triple rhythms.
The piu lento further on, in C sharp minor,
has little sadness. It is but the blur of a
passing cloud that shadows with its fleecy
edges the wind-swept moorland. This scherzo

175

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

in E is emphatically a mood of joyousness,
as joyous as the witty, sensitive Pole ever
allowed himself to be. Its coda is not so
forceful as the usual Chopin coda, and there
is a dazzling flutter of silvery scale at the
end. It is a charming work. Closely allied
to it in general sentiment is the E flat scherzo
in the B minor sonata. It is largely ara-
besque and its ornamentation is genial, though
not ingenious. To me this scherzo savors
somewhat of Weber. It might go on forever.
The resolution is not intellectual — is purely
one of tonality. The thought is tenuous ; it
is a light, highly embroidered relief after the
first movement of the sonata. The trio in B
is not particularly noteworthy. Truly a salon
scherzo and challenges Mendelssohn on his
native heath. It must be considered as an
intermezzo and also as a prelude to the lyric
measures of the beautiful largo that follows.

We get on firm and familiar footing when
the first page of the B flat minor scherzo is
opened. Who has not heard with awe those
arched questioning triplets which Chopin
could never get his pupils to play sufficiently
tomb6? ** It must be a charnel house," he
told De Lenz. These vaulted phrases have
become banal. Ala^ ! this scherzo, like the
lovely A flat ballade, has been done to a

176

THE GREATER CHOPIN

cruel death. Yet how fresh, how vigorous,
how abounding with sweetness and light
when it falls from the fingers of a master !
It is a Byronic poem, ** so tender, so bold, so
as full of love as of scorn," to quote Schu*
mann. Has Chopin ever penned a more
delicious song than the one in D flat» with
its straying over the borderlands of G flat?
It is the high noon of love, life and happi-
ness ; the dark bud of the introduction has
burst into a perfect flowering, and what mira-
cles of scent, color, shape we seize! The
section in A has the quality of great art —
great, questioning, but sane, noble art. It is
serious to severity, and yet how penetrating
in perfume !

The excursion in C sharp minor is an
awakening of the wondering dream, but it
is balanced ; it is healthy. No suggestion of
the pallid morbidities of the other Chopin.
And how supremely welded is the style with
the subject ! What masterly writing and it
lies in the very heart of the piano ! A hun-
dred generations may not improve on these
pages. Then, fearful that he has dwelt too
long upon the idea, Chopin breaks away
into the key of E, and one of those bursts
into clear sky follows. After the repetition
comes the working-out section, and, while
12 177

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

ingenious and effective, it is always in the
development that he is at his weakest. The
Olympian aloofness of Beethoven, Chopin
had not. He cannot survey his material
from all points. He is a great composer,
but he is also a great pianist. He nursed his
themes with wonderful constructive frugality;
the instrument often checked his imagination.
There is a logic in this exposition, but it is
piano logic and not always music logic. A
certain straining after brilliancy, a falling off
in the spontaneous urge of the early pages
force us to feel happy when the first triplet
figure returns. The coda is brilliantly strong.
This scherzo will remain the favored one. It
is not cryptic and repellent like the two in B
minor and C sharp minor, and is a perennial
joy to pupil and public alike.

We now trench upon a sacred and not
often explored territory of the Chopin music.
The scherzo in E flat minor is one of the
most powerful of the six. To play it effec-
tively one needs breadth of style, a heroic
spirit and fingers and wrists of steel. The
tremendous crescendo in one bar taxes the
strength of most pianists. The composition
has something elemental about it. It is true
storm music* and the whistling of the wind
in the chromatic successions of chords of the

178

THE GREATER CHOPIN

sixth has an eerie effect on one's nerves.
None of the Chopin scherzi stir me as this
one. There is menacing gloom in the second
bar, and the rush and grandeur of the move-
ment take my breath away. The blissful
song in G flat is not uninterrupted bliss.
There is a threatening undercurrent, as if
the howling tempest might return; it does,
and how originally Chopin manages this !
The descending octaves, which seem to carry
us to the mouth of hell, are burst in upon by
the first stormy theme, and again we are
madly projected through space, a victim of
the elements. Defiance, satanic pride, the
majesty of the microcosm, a spiritual chal-
lenge to fate are all here. The lulling, lovely
lines of the piu lento steal in again and the
curtain rings down on a great picture of
passion and pain.

Chopin's first scherzo in B minor bears an
early opus number. It is his twentieth work
— the most sombre, yet the most shrill and
hysterical of the scherzi. It is in his most
ironic, yet most reckless, vein ; Chopin throw-
ing himself to the very winds of remorse. A
terrible mood, a Manfred mood, a torturing
mood. A soul-shriek from the first chord to
the last, with one dream inclosed within its
gates of brass, it reminds one of the struggles

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of an imprisoned soul beating with wounded
palms its prison door. It is the unhappiest,
the most riotous of Chopin's works and
suffers from prolixity. Its keynote is too
tense for the da capos marked by the com-
poser, and unsuited for latter-day taste.
Some virtuosi play this scherzo without the
repeats, and the piece gains greatly. It is so
harsh, so drastic, that the wondrous melody
in B, with its lapping, lilting tenths — ** the
sweet slumber of the moonlight on the hills"
— after the tragic strain, comes like a bene-
diction. This scherzo has almost had a
special message. Chopin, like Robert Louis
Stevenson, was afflicted with weak health,
was slender of frame, but his spirit was brave
as the lion's. Both men could write terrible
things, even though they could not compass
them. The sense of impotence, of stifled
longings, fills this scherzo with inarticulate
moans and bewailings. What a life tragedy
is the opus 20!

The arabesque-like figure after the eight
bar introduction — muted bars some of them,
as was Chopin's wont — has a certain spirit-
ual likeness to the principal figure in the C
sharp minor fantaisie-impromptu. But in-
stead of the ductile triplets, as in the bass of
the impromptu, we divide the figure in the

180

THE GREATER CHOPIN

scherzo between the two hands, and the
harshness of the mood is emphasized by the
anticipatory chord in the left hand. The
vitality of the first page of this scherzo is
marvellous. The questioning chords at the
close of the section are as imaginative as any
passages Chopin ever wrote. The half notes
E and the up-leaping appogiatura are also
evidences of his originality in minor details.
These occur just before the modulation into
the lyric theme in B and with a slight change
just at the dash into the coda. The second
section, an agitato, contains some knotty
harmonic problems. But they must be
skimmed over at tempestuous speed, else
cacophony. Bold here is Chopin to excess,
as if his spirit would knock at the very gate
of heaven, but the surge and thunder waxes,
wanes, wastes itself; the soul has stormed
itself to slumber. The molto piu lento of
this scherzo is, by consent, one of Chopin's
masterpieces. It is written in the richly
colored, luscious key of B major. It is so
fragrant, so replete with woven enchantment,
that the air becomes divinely dense. With
broken tenths, Chopin produces subtle effects.
It is all a miracle of tender beauty, and is like
some old world Armida's garden, when time
was young and men and women lived to love

i8t

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

and not to sorrow. It is only comparable to
the B major episode in the B minor ^tude
or to the Tuberose nocturne of the same
key. Mark how the composer returns to his
first savage mood ! It is a picture of con-
trasted violence. But beware of the da capo.
It grows wearisome. Far better repeat the
first section only and attack the coda —
the finest coda ever made by the master. I
know nothing of his that can equal its bold'
ness, its electrifying ride across country, its
almost barbaric impetuosity. The heavy
accentuation on the first note of every bar
must not blind one's rhythmical sense to the
second beat in the left hand, which is likewise
accented. This produces a mixed rhythm
that greatl/ adds to the general murkiness
and despair of the finale. Those daring
':hordal dissonances, so logical, so effective,
low they must have agitated and scratched
he nerves of Chopin's contemporaries ! And
they must be vigorously insisted upon; no
veiled half lights, for the worst is over; the
ships are burned ; nothing remains but the
awful catastrophe. To his death goes this
musical Childe Roland, and the dark tower
crumbles and creation crumbles at the close.
The scherzo ends in chaos, overwhelming,
supreme !

1B2

THE GREATER CHOPIN

I think it was Tausig who first taught his
pupils to use the interlocked octaves at the
close instead of the chromatic scale in unison.
I suppose Liszt did it before anyone else ; he
always thought of such things, even if the
composer did iiot. I doubt not but that
Chopin would have objected to the innova-
tion, although it seems admissible. After
the furious Hercules-vein of the coda, to
finish with a chromatic scale sounds tame
and ineffectual.

Even though the sneer, the peevishness and
fretfulness of a restless, unhappy, sick-brained
man disturb it, the C sharp minor scherzo is
yet the most dramatic, the most finely moulded
of the six. It is capricious to madness,
but the dramatic quality is unmistakable. It
seethes with scorn, if such an extravagant
figure is permissible. It is all extravagance,
fire and fury, but it signifies something. Just
a word about the tempo. Nearly all the
scherzi are marked presto, but it should be
remembered that it is the presto of Chopin's
day, and, above all, of Chopin's piano action.
The action of the pianos of his time, espe-
cially of the Pleyel piano, was superlatively
light and elastic. The Chopin tempi should
be moderated, as Theodore Kullak has so
often insisted. You lose in ponderability

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And dignity by adopting the swift, old-fash'
toned time markings. The first part of the
B minor scherzo may be taken at a presto —
a comfortable presto, the scherzo in E must
be played presto ; also the one in E flat ; but
where the thought takes on a graver hue,
where majesty of utterance or nobility of
phrase are to be considered, moderate your
pulses, I conjure you, master pianists. The
C sharp minor scherzo is an especial sufferer
from a too hurried speed. The architectonics
are consequently blurred, details jumbled and
the indescribable power of the piece lost.
And if you start out with such a fiery presto,
where will you get your contrast of speed in
the coda, which should be fairly shot out from
your finger-tips? Or would you emulate
Schumann and start in with a prestissimo
possible and follow with still more of a pres-
tissimo? You remember his sonata? Try a
presto by all means, but remember the heavier
tone mass of the modern piano. This scherzo
is a massive composition, yet full of fitful
starts and surprises. The bits of chorale in
the trio are hugely Chopin as to fioritura
and harmonic basis. More than all the others
this one reminds you of some pulse-stirring
drama. It is audacious and declamatory.
Even in the meno mosso it never tarries, and

184

THE GREATER CHOPIN

the coda is built of one of those familiar
iigfures cumulative in effect throus:h repeti-
tion and all written eminently for the instru-
ment. The scherzo in C sharp minor is
grotesque; it is original. It has affinities
with the darkling: conceptions of Poe, Cole-
ridg:e, Hoffman, and is Heine-like in its bitter
irony. It is like some fantastic, sombre pile
of disordered farouche architecture, and about
it hovers perpetual night and the unspeakable
and despairing things that live in the night.
It is a tale from Poe's ''iron bound, melan-
choly volume of the magi," and on its face is
written the word Spleer. Chopin might have
said with Poe : " Then I grew angry and
cursed, with the curse of Spleen, the river
and the lilies and the wind and the forest
and the heavens and the thunder and the
sighs of the water lilies. And they became
accursed and were still. And the moon
ceased to totter up its pathway to heaven —
and the thunder died away — and the light-
ning did not flash — and the clouds hung:
motionless — and the waters sunk to their
level and remained — and the trees ceased
to rock— and the water lilies sighed no more
— and the murmur was heard no longer
from among them, nor any shadow of sound
throughout the vast illimitable desert. And

185

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

I looked upon the characters of the rock, and
they were changed, and the characters were
Spleen."

All this was told in the dreary region in
Lybia by the borders of the ZaTre, where the
waters have a sickly and saffron hue. But
Poe wrote the word Silence, which I have
changed to Spleen. Three of the Chopin
scherzi are the very outpourings of a soul
charged with the spiritual spleen of this age
of disillusionment.

Ill

Mr. Krehbiel once wrote, in discussing the
question of the re-scoring of the Chopin con-
certos : " It is more than anything else a
question of taste that is involved in this mat-
ter and, as so often happens, individual lik-
ngs, rather than artistic principles, will carry
the day."

It is admitted at the outset by all musicians
that the orchestrations of the two concertos
in E and F minor of Chopin are meagre and
conventional, not to say hackneyed.

Written in the pre-Beethoven style they
simply rob the piano soli of their incompara-
ble beauty, become a clog instead of an aid,
and have done more to prejudice musicians

1 86

THE GREATER CHOPIN

against Chopin than any other compositions
he has written. That they were penned by
Chopin himself is more than doubtful, as his
knowledge of instrumentation was somewhat
slender, and the amazing fact will always re-
main that while his piano compositions are
ever fresh and far removed from all that is trite
or commonplace, the orchestration of his con-
certos is irksome and uninteresting to a degree.
In both concertos the opening tuttis are long
and take off all the cream and richness of the
soli that follow.

The tone of the piano can scarcely vie with
that of the orchestra, yet in the first move-
ment of the E minor concerto the lovely,
plaintive solo of the first subject in E minor
is deliberately played through ; the audience
and the pianist must patiently wait until it is
finished and then, like an absurd anti-climax,
the piano breaks in, repeating the same story,
only dwarfed and colorless in comparison.
In the Tausig version of the E minor open-
ing the tutti differs, in that it omits entirely
the piano solo, contenting itself after the first
theme, with the small secondary subject in E
minor that is afterward played by the piano.
Then come the rich opening E minor chords
on the piano, and we are once more plunged
in medias res without further ado.

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

The orchestral tutti before the piano enters
In C major, is in the Tausig version very effec-
tive despite the dreaded trombones. It must
be admitted that here we get some Meister-
singer color which is — so the story runs —
because Wagner had a hand in the arrange-
ment. Certainly Tausig submitted it to him
for judgment.

The orchestral canvas is broadened, the
tints brighter, deeper, richer and offering a
better background for the jewelled passage
work of the piano.

The brass choir is so balanced as to float
the staccato tone of the piano, giving it depth
and sonority.

Take for example the horn pedal-point in
E, which occurs in the middle of the romanza
where the piano has the delicate, crystalline
chromatic cadenza of three bars only. What
a stroke of genius for Tausig to introduce the
brass here ! It floats the fairy-like progres-
sions of the solo and in what ethereal hues !
But orthodox pianists will say this is not
Chopin, and raise their Czerny-hands in
horror.

The changes in the piano parts of the first
movement of the E minor concerto are effec-
tive, they in no sense destroy the integrity of
the ideas ; where there is a chromatic scale in

i88

THE GREATER CHOPIN

unison, Tausig breaks it into double sixths and
fourths and chordal figures which are not
simplifications or mere pyrotechnics but de-
cidedly more " pianistic " and brilliant.

One thing seems to be forgotten in discuss-
ing Chopin piano literature — his music is
more than abreast of our times. Consider
the fantasy, opus 49, the scherzi, the ballades,
the sonatas — the two later ones — the Etudes
and it will be seen that the figures are modern
even to novelty; that Schumann, Liszt and
Rubinstein borrowed, even if they amplified^
and Tausig, if he did alter a few details,
did not commit a sin against good taste.
Carl Tausig of all virtuosi penetrated deeper
into the meanings of the Polish tone-poet,
interpreting his music in an incomparable
manner.

As regards the coda of the first movement
of the E minor concerto Tausig simply takes
the awkward trill from the left hand and gives
it to the 'celli and contrabasso and the piano
plays the passage in unison. Most pianists,
Rosenthal excepted, acknowledge that the
trill is both distracting and ineffective.

The chromatic work at the end of this
movement is broad and infinitely more klavier-
massig than the older version, the piano clos-
ing at the same moment with the orchestra,

189

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

the audience not being compelled to listen
to cadences of the Hummel type to the bitter
end. The piano part of the second move-
ment is hardly touched by Tausig ; it could
not be improved, but the orchestration is so
spiritualized and so delicately colored that
even a purist may not groan in disapproval.
Against the Tausig version of the rondo
the war of complaint is frequently raised.
"What, he dares to tamper with the very
notes, introducing sixteenths where Chopin
wrote eighths ! " Yes, this is true, but what
an improvement! How much brighter and
livelier the rhythm sounds ; how much more
joyful and elastic ! and when the piano part
enters it is with added zest we listen to its
cheerful song. It is a relief too, when the
flute and oboe take up the theme, the piano
contenting itself with a trill. The other
changes in the solo part in this movement are
all in admirable taste and effective but they
are not easier to play than the original. The
movement loses none of its freshness by the
additions, while it gains in tone and dignity.
The octaves at the end destroy in some degree
the euphony but add in brilliancy. It is
seldom one hears them played with clearness
and lightness; but when pounded out they
become distressingly monotonous.

190

THE GREATER CHOPIN

If a concerto is an harmonious relationship
between the solo instrument and the orches-
tra then the Tausig version of the E minor
concerto fulfils perfectly the idea. Of course
if a poor conductor who wishes to make a
scandal out of each tutti takes hold of the
work and a mediocre pianist attempts the
solo part, critics may indeed carp and say
that Tausig has spoiled the concerto with his
additions.

The argument that holds good in the case
of added accompaniments of Robert Franz to
Handel is the same here but best of all
remains the unalterable fact that the Tausig
version is more effective and what pianist can
resist such an argument ! Tausig in the E
minor and Richard Burmeister in the F minor
concerto have given these two works of
Chopin a better frame ; the picture appears
clearer and more beautiful, details becoming
more significant making both works better
understood.

Mr. Burmeister has not only re-orches-
trated the F minor concerto, but his cadenza
at the close of the first movement — a cadenza
that embodies in an admirable manner the
spirit of its themes — in reality supplies a
missing coda. There are also some impor-
tant changes in the last movement. Mr.

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Krehbiel justly says, Tausig's emendations
have greatly added **to the stature of the
concerto."

George Mathias has sketched Chopin in a
few sincere, exquisite strokes. His alluring,
hesitating, gracious, feminine manner and air
of supreme distinction are touched upon, and
M. Mathias — dear, charming old gentleman,
how well I remember him in 1879 ! — speaks
of Chopin's shoulders, held high after the
style of the Poles. Chopin often met Kalk-
brenner, his antipodes in everything but
breeding. Chopin*s coat was buttoned high
but the buttons were black; Kalkbrenner's
were gold. And how Chopin disliked the
pompous old pianist, with his airs and stingi*
ness. As Mathias writes with glee of the
idea of Chopin's profiting from the instruc-
tions of Kalkbrenner:

•*Je crois qu'il n'y a eu qu'une lecon de
prise," he adds most emphatically.

At Louis Viardot's Chopin met Thalberg,
and that great master of the arpeggio and
also of one of the finest singing touches ever
heard on a keyboard, received with haughty
humility the Polish pianist's compliments, not

192

THE GREATER CHOPIN

quite believing in their sincerity. Perhaps
he was right, for Chopin made mock of his
mechanical style when his back was turned ;
his imitation of the MoTse fantasy being
astoundingly funny, according to Mathias.

" What a jury of pianists," he cries, '* in the
old days of the Salle Erard ! Doehler, Drey-
schock, Leopold de Meyer, Zimmerman, Thai-
berg, Kalkbrenner — how they all curiously
examined the Polish black swan, with his
original style and extraordinary technique ! "
A row over Liszt's transcription of Beethoven's
AdelaYde is mentioned.

And Chopin, pianist? He played as he
composed — in an absolutely unapproach-
able manner. He would doubtless be shocked
to hear his music in the hands of some modern
Sandow of the keyboard, torn into unmelodic
splinters, yet every splinter exhaling a melo-
dic sound under the furious fingers of the
misguided pianist. Mathias examines his
rubato and settles the much debated question,
although Liszt's happy illustration of the un*
shaken tree with the shimmering leaves, still
holds good. Chopin admired Weber. Their
natures were alike aristocratic. Once after
Mathias had played the noble, chivalrous
sonata in A flat Chopin exclaimed :

** Un ange passait dans le cieL"
13 193

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Mathias first knew Chopin in 1840 in the
rue de la Chauss^e d'Antin, 38. The house
no longer stands, having been demolished by
the cutting of the rue Lafayette. Later he
moved to the rue Tronchet, number 5. The
house is still there. He occupied the rez-de-
chauss^e. The first piece Mathias brought
him was by Kalkbrenner and called Une
Pens^e de Bellini. Chopin regarded it with-
out horror, then gave the boy the Mosch-
eles studies and the A minor concerto of
Hummel. His pupil, Fontana, gave lessons
when the master was sick. One day Chopin
was ill but received his visitors lying on a
couch. Mathias noticed the Carneval of
Schumann. It was the first edition, and
Chopin on being asked what he thought of
the music answered in icy accents as if the
work were painful even to know. He could
not speak well of music where want of form
shocked his classical instincts, so he said as
little as possible. And poor old Robert
Schumann down in Leipsic pouring out inky
rhapsodies over Chopin !

Mathias tells us that Chopin was a simple
man — " Je ne veux pas dire simple esprit "
— was no critic, was without literary preten-
sions and not of the intellectual fibre of Liszt
or Berlioz. When the aide-decamp of King

194

THE GREATER CHOPIN

Louis Philippe asked him why he did not
compose an opera he answered in that small,
slightly stifled voice of his: "Ah, M. le
Comte, let me compose piano music; it's
all I know how to do."

Bach, Hummel and Field, Mathias says,
were his strongest musical influences. You
may well imagine his horror if forced to listen
to the Ring. A tender-souled creature yet
with the fire of a hero in his veins ! More
masculine, heroic music — free from Liszt's
and Wagner's grandiloquence of accent —
than the F sharp minor polonaise, some of
the ballades, preludes and Etudes, has yet to
be written.

In the city of Boston, January 19, 1809, a
son was born to David and Elizabeth Poe.
On March i, 1809, in the little village of
Zelazowa-Wola, twenty-eight miles from War-
saw, in Poland, a son was born to Nicholas
and Justina Chopin. The American is known
to the world as Edgar Allan Poe, the poet ;
the Pole as Frederic Francois Chopin, the
composer. October 7, 1849, Edgar Poe died
neglected in Washington Hospital at Balti-
more, and October 17, 1849, Frederic Chopin

195

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

expired in Paris surrounded by loving friends.
Poe and Chopin never knew of each other's
existence yet — a curious coincidence — two
supremely melancholy artists of the beautiful
lived and died almost synchronously.

It would be a strained parallel to compare
Chopin and Poe at many points yet the
chronological events referred to, are not the
only comparisons that might be made with-
out the fear or flavor of affectation. There
are parallels in the soul-lives as well as in the
earth-lives of these two men — Poe and
Chopin seem ever youthful — that may be
drawn without extravagance. True, the roots
of Chopin's culture were more richly nurtured
than Poe's, but the latter, like a spiritual air
plant, derived his sustenance none know how.
Of Poe's forbears we may hardly form any
adequate conception; his learning was not
profound, despite his copious quotations from
almost forgotten and recondite authors ; yet
his lines to Helen were written in boyhood
The poet in his case was indeed born, nol
made. Chopin, we know, had careful training
from the faithful Eisner ; but who could have
taught him to write his opus 2, the variations
over which Schumann rhapsodized, or even
that gem, his E flat nocturne — now, alas !
somewhat stale from conservatory usage ?

196

THE GREATER CHOPIN

Both these men, full fledged in their gifts,
sprang from the Jovian brain and, while they
both improved in the technics of their art,
their individualities were at the outset as
sharply defined as were their limitations.
Read Poe's To Helen, and tell me if he
made more exquisite music in his later years.
You remember it:

Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nic^an barks of yore
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.

I refrain from giving the third verse ; but
are not these lines remarkable in beauty of
imagination and diction when one considers
they were penned by a youngster scarcely
out of his teens !

Now glance at Chopin's earlier effusions,
his opus I, a rondo in C minor; his opus 2
already referred to; his opus 3, the C major
polonaise for 'cello and piano ; his opus 5, the
Rondeau k la Mazur in F; his opus 6, the
first four mazourkas, perfect of their kind;

197

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

opus 7, more mazourkas ; opus 8, the G minor
trio, the classicism of which you may dis-
pute; nevertheless it contains lovely music.
Then follow the nocturnes, the concerto in F
minor, the latter begun when Chopin was
only twenty, and so on through the list.
Both men died at forty — the very prime of
life, when the natural forces are acting freest,
when the overwrought passions of youth had
begun to mellow and yet there were several
years before the close, a distinct period of
decadence, almost deterioration. I am con-
scious of the critical claims of those who taste
in both Poe's and Chopin's later music the
exquisite quality of the over-ripe, the savor
of morbidity.

Beautiful as it is, Chopin's polonaise-
fan taisie opus 6i, with its hectic flush — in its
most musical, most melancholy cadences —
gives us a premonition of death. Composed
three years before he died, it has the taint of
the tomb about it and, like the A minor
mazourka, said by Klindworth to be Chopin's
last composition, the sick brain is heard in
the morbid insistence of the theme, of the
weary ** wherefore?" in every bar. Is not
this iteration like Foe's in his last period?
Read Ulalume with its haunting, harrowing
harmonies :

198

THE GREATER CHOPIN

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober,
As the leaves that were crisped and sere —
As the leaves that were withering and sere.

• ■••■••
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust •—
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dust-—
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

This poem, in which sense swoons {nto
sound, has all the richness of color, the dan-
gerous glow of the man whose brain is peril
ously near the point of unhingement.

Poe then, like Chopin, did not die too
soon. Morbid, neurotic natures, they lived
their lives with the intensity that Walter
Pater declares is the only true life. "To
burn always with this hard, gem-like flame,"
he writes " to maintain this ecstasy, is success
in life. Failure is to form habits."

Certainly Chopin and Poe fulfilled in their
short existences these conditions. They
burned ever with the flame of genius and that
flame devoured their brains as surely as
paresis. Their lives, in the ordinary Phil-
istine or Plutus-like sense, were failures;
uncompromising failures. They were not
citizens after the conjugal manner nor did
they accumulate pelf They certainly failed
to form habits and, while the delicacy of the

199

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Pole prevented his indulging in the night-side
Bohemianism of the American, he neverthe-
less contrived to outrage social and ethical
canons. Poe, it is said, was a drunkard,
though recent researches develop the fact
that but one glass of brandy drove him into
delirium. Possibly like Baudelaire, his dis-
ciple and translator, he indulged in some
deadly drug or perhaps congenital derange-
ment, such as masked epilepsy, or some
cerebral disorder, colored his daily actions
with the semblance of arrant dissipation and
recklessness.

There are two Poes known to his various
friends. A few knew the one, many the
other; some knew both men. A winning,
poetic personality, a charming man of the
world, electric in speech and with an eye of
genius — a creature with a beautiful brain,
said many. Alas! the other; a sad-eyed
wretch with a fixed sneer, a bitter, uncurbed
tongue that lashed alike friend and foe, a sot,
a libertine, a gambler — God! what has not
Edgar Allan Poe been called ! We all know
that Griswold distorted the picture, but some
later critics have declared that Poe, despite
his angelic treatment of his cousin-wife Maria
Clemm, was not a man of irreproachable
habits.

SCO

THE GREATER CHOPIN

This much I have heard; at the time Poe
lived in Philadelphia, where he edited a
magazine for Burton or Graham — I forget
which — my father met him several times at
the houses of Judge Conrad and John Sar-
tain, the latter the steel engraver. Poe, my
father has repeatedly told me, was a slender,
nervous man, very reticent, very charming in
manner, though, like Chopin, disposed to a
certain melancholy hauteur; both men were
probably poseurs. But after one glass of
wine or spirits Poe became an uncontrol-
lable demon ; — his own demon of perversity ;
and poetry and blasphemy poured from his
lips. John Sartain has told of a midnight
tramp he took with Poe, in the midst of a
howling storm, in Fairmount Park, Philadel-
phia, to prevent him from attempting his life.
This enigmatic man, like Chopin, lived a
double life, but his surroundings were differ-
ent and this particular fact must be accented.

America was not a pleasant place for an
artist a half century ago. William Blake the
poet-seer wrote : ** The ages are all equal but
genius is always above its age." Poe was cer-
tainly above his age — a trafficking time in the
history of the country, when commerce ruled
and little heed was given to the beautiful.
N. P. Willis, Poe's best friend, counsellor and

aoi

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

constant helper, wrote pale proper verse while
Poe made a bare living by writing horrific
tales wherein his marvellous powers of analy-
sis and description found play and pay. But
oh ! the pity of it all ! The waste of superior
talent — of absolute genius. The divine spark
that was crushed out, trampled in the mud
and made to do duty as a common tallow
dip ! One is filled with horror at the thought
of a kindred poetic nature also being cast in
the prosaic atmosphere of this country; for
if Chopin had not had success at Prince Val-
entine Radziwiirs soir6e in Paris in the year
1 83 1 he would certainly have tried his luck
in the New World, and do you not shudder
at the idea of Chopin's living in the United
States in 1 83 1 ?

Fancy those two wraiths of genius, Poe and
Chopin, in this city of New York 1 Chopin
giving piano lessons to the daughters of
wealthy aristocrats of the Battery, Poe en-
countering him at some conversazione — they
had conversaziones then — and propounding
to him Heine-like questions : ** Are the roses
at home still in their flame-hued pride?"
** Do the trees still sing as beautifully in the
moonlight? "

They would have understood one another
at a glance. Poe was not a whit inferior in

202

THE GREATER CHOPIN

sensibility to Chopin. Balzac declared that if
Chopin drummed on a bare table, his fingers
made subtle-sounding music. Foe, like Bal-
zac, would have felt the drummed tears in
Chopin's play, while Chopin in turn could not
have failed to divine the tremulous vibrations
of Poe's exquisitely strung nature. What a
meeting it would have been, but again, what
inevitable misery for the Polish poet !

A different tale might be told if Poe had
gone to Paris and enjoyed some meed of
success ! How the fine flower of his genius
would have bloomed into fragrance if nour-
ished in such congenial soil ! We would prob-
ably not have had, to such a desperate extent
the note of melancholia, so sweetly despairing
or despairingly sweet, that we now enjoy in
his writings — a note eminently Gothic and
Christian. Goethe's " Nur wer die Sehnsucht
Kennt" is as true of Poe as of Heine, of
Baudelaire, of Chopin, of Schumann, of Shel-
ley, of Leopardi, of Byron, of Keats, of Alfred
de Musset, of Senancour, of Amiel — of all
that choir of lacerated lives which wreak them-
selves in expression. One is well reminded
here of Baudelaire who wrote of the ferocious
absorption in the pursuit of beauty, by her
votaries. Poe and Chopin all their lives were
tortured by the desire of beauty, by the vision

203

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

of perfection. Little recked they of that
penalty which must be paid by men of
genius, and has been paid from Tasso to
Swift and from Poe and Baudelaire to Guy
de Maupassant.

Frederic Chopin's culture was not necessa-
rily of a finer stamp than Edgar Poe's, nor was
his range wider. Both men were narrow in
sympathies though intense to the point of
poignancy and rich in mood-versatility. Both
were born aristocrats ; purple raiment became
them well and both were sadly deficient in
genuine humor — the Attic salt that con-
serves while mocking itself. Irony both
possessed to a superlative degree and both
believed in the rhythmical creation of lyrical
beauty and in the charm of evanescence.
Poe declared, in his dogmatic manner, that a
long poem could not exist. He restricted
the poetical art in form and length, and fur-
thermore insisted that " Beauty of whatever
kind in its supreme development invariably
excites a sensitive soul to tears." The note
of melancholy was to him the one note worthy
the singing. And have we not a parallel in
Chopin's music?

He is morbid, there is no gainsaying it and,
like Poe, is at his best in smaller art forms.
When either artist spreads his pinions for sym-

204

THE GREATER CHOPIN

phonic flights, we are reminded of Matthew
Arnold's poetical description of Shelley
'* beating in the void his luminous wings in
vain." Poe and Chopin mastered supremely,
as Henry James would say, their intellectual in-
struments. They are lyrists and their attempts
at the epical are usually distinguished failures.

Exquisite artificers in precious cameos,
these two men are of a consanguinity because
of their devotion to Our Ladies of Sorrow,
the Mater Lachrymarum, the Mater Sus-
piriorum and the Mater Tenebrarum of
Thomas De Quincey. If the Mater Malo-
rum — Mother of Evil — presided over their
lives, they never in their art became as Baude-
laire, a sinister *' Israfel of the sweet lute."
Whatever their personal shortcomings, the
disorders of their lives found no reflex be-
yond that of melancholy. The notes of
revolt, of anger, of despair there are, but of
impurity, no trace whatsoever. Poe's women
— those ethereal creatures whose slim necks,
willowy figures, radiant eyes and velvet foot-
falls, encircled in an atmosphere of purity —
Poe's women, while not being the womanly
woman beloved of William Wordsworth, are
after all untainted by any morbidities.

Poe ever professed in daily life, whatever
he may have practised, the highest reverence

205

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

for "das ewig Weibliche" and not less so
Chopin, who was fastidious and a very stickler
for the more minute proprieties of life. Am
I far fetched in my simile when I compare
the natures of Poe and Chopin ! Take the
latter's preludes for example, tiny poems,
and parallel them to such verse of Poe's as
the Haunted Palace, Eulalie, Annabel Lee,
Eldorado, The Conquered Worm or that in-
comparable bit, Israfel :

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
Whose heart-strings are a lute *
None sing so wildly well
As the Angel Israfel.

Poe's haunting melodies, his music for
music's sake, often remind us of Chopin.
The euphonious, the well sounding, the wohl-
klang, was carried almost beyond the pitch
of endurance, by both artists. They had
however some quality of self-restraint as
well as the vices of their virtues; we may
no longer mention The Raven or The Bells
with equanimity, nor can we endure listening
to the E flat nocturne or the D flat valse. In
the latter case repetition has dulled the ears
for enjoyment ; in the former case the obvious
artificiality of both poems, despite their many
happy conceits, jars on the spiritual ear. The
bulk of Chopin's work is about comparable

2Q6

THE GREATER CHOPIN

to Poe's. Neither man was a copious pro-
ducer and both carried the idea of perfec->
tion to insanity's border. Both have left
scores of imitators but in Poe's case a veri-
table school has been founded; in Chopin's
the imitations have been feeble and sterile.

Following Poe we have unquestionably
Algernon Charles Swinburne, who is doubly
a reflection of Poe, for he absorbed Poe's
alliterative system, and from Charles Baude- .
laire his mysticism, plus Baudelaire's malifi-
cence, to which compound he added the
familiar Swinburnian eroticism. Tennyson
and Elizabeth Barrett-Browning felt Poe's in-
fluence, if but briefly, while in France and Bel-
gium he has produced a brood of followers
beginning with the rank crudities of Gabo-
riau, in his detective stories, modelled after
The Murder in the Rue Morgue; the Bel-
gian Maeterlinck, who juggles with Poe's
motives of fear and death, Baudelaire, a
French Poe with an abnormal flavor of
Parisian depravity super-added and latterly
that curious group, the decadents, headed
by Verlaine, and Stephen Mallarm6. Poe
has made his influence felt in England too,
notably upon James Thomson, the poet
of The City of Dreadful Night and in Ire-
land, in the sadly sympathetic figure of

2o.;7

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

James Clarence Mangan. Of Chopin's indi-
rect influence on the musical world I would
not care to dilate fearing you would accuse
me of exaggeration. Liszt would not have
been a composer — at least for the piano, if
he had not nested in Chopin's brain. As I
said before, I certainly believe that Wagner
profited greatly by Chopin's discoveries in
chromatic harmonies, discoveries without
which modern music would yet be in diatonic
swaddling clothes.

On one point Poe and Chopin were as dis-
similar as the poles; the point of nation-
ality. Poe wrote in the English tongue but
beyond that he was no more American
than he was English. His milieu was un-
sympathetic, and he refused to be assimi*
lated by it. His verse and his prose depict
character and situations that belong to no
man's land — to that region East of the moon
and West of the sun. In his Eldorado he
poetically locates the country wherein his
soul dramas occur. Thus he sings:

** Over the mountains
Of the moon
Down the valley of the shadow.
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied,
** If you seek for Eldorado."

208

THE GREATER CHOPIN

His creations are mostly bodiless and his
verse suggests the most subtile imagery.
Shadow of shadows, his prose possesses the
same spectral quality. Have you read those
two perfect pastels — Silence and Shadow?
If not, you know not the genius of Edgar
Allan Foe. Chopin is more human than Poe,
inasmuch as he is patriotic His polonaises
are, as Schumann said, '' cannons buried in
flowers." He is Chopin and he is also Poland
though Poland is by no means Chopin. In
his polonaises, in his mazourkas, the indefin-
able Polish Zal lurks, a drowsy perfume.
Chopin struck many human chords; some
of his melodies belong to that Poe-like
region wherein beauty incarnate reigns and
is worshipped for itself. This then is the
great dissimilarity between the artist in tone
and the artist in words. Poe had no coun-
try ; Chopin had Poland. If Chopin's heart
had been exposed ** Poland " might havie been
found blazoned upon it.

But, if Poe lacked political passion he had
the passion for the beautiful. Both men re*
sembled one another strangely, in their in-
tensity of expression. Both had the power
of expressing the weird, the terrific, and
Chopin in his scherzi, thunders from heights
that Poe failed to scale. The ethical motif
14 209

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

was, curiously enough, absent in both and
both despised the ** heresy of instruction."
Art for art's sake, beauty for beauty's sake
alone, was their shibboleth.

Will the music of Chopin ever age ? Louis
Ehlert thinks that music ages rapidly like
the beauty of Southern women, and Baude-
laire says, ** Nothing here below is certain, no
building on strong hearts, both love and
beauty go." An English critic, Mr. Vernon
Blackburn, puts the case plainly: *'I do not
merely and baldly mean," he writes, ** that
an artistic production, like man, like the
flowers, like the sun, grows older as the years
go ; I mean that those years do actually steal
from it an absolute quality which it once
possessed."

Much of the early Chopin has become
faded, but the greater Chopin, like Bach and
Beethoven, will last as long as the voice of
the piano is heard throughout the land.

Frederic Chopin is as Robert Schumann
declared, "the proudest poetic spirit of his
time."

Fryderyk Szopen — thus Szulc and Kara-
sowski write the name of Poland's great
composer — has had varying fortunes with

2IO

THE GREATER CHOPIN

his biographers. He has been much written
about, and aged persons who never saw him
have published glib memoirs of him. He
has been misunderstood and beslavered with
uncritical praise, and his friends and pupils
have in most cases proved to be his excel-
lent enemies. Chopin to-day enjoys an un-
healthy vogue and the fame of him is apt to
prove his undoing, A fellow of formidable
passions, of dramatic vigor, a man of heroic
brain, the woman in his nature and the
idolatry of women wove a feminine aureole
about his distinguished head, and so he bids
fair to go down to posterity the very por-
trait of a hysterical, jaded, morbid invalid.

But Chopin was all this and something
more.

Where is the true Chopin to be found?
If you have a pretty fancy for musical psy-
chologizing you will answer that in his music
may be discovered the true Chopin, and in
no book, pamphlet or pedantic exegesis.

If you believe in biographies there is
Niecks* — Niecks who combed creation clean
for petty facts and large instances; his two
bulky volumes are at once the delight and
despair of all Chopinists.

One summer I gave myself over to Chopin
and his weaving musical magic. I secured

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

various editions. I read Scholtz and the
several editors of thp Breitkopf & H artel
edition and enjoyed Theodor Kullak*s re-
marks appended to his edition. In Mikuli
I found a moiety to praise and wonder at —
there the rubato flourishes like the green
bay tree — and indorsed the sympathetic and
sane editing of Karl Klindworth, which
comes nearer to being a definitive edition than
any of them. Von Billow's version of the
studies is partly amusing and partly imperti-
nent — while I carefully avoided all French
editions. The French understand Chopin
to a limited degree, and they worship in
him the qualities that were almost fatal to
his genius.

I never heard a French pianist give an
adequate interpretation to Chopin's master-
works. If the Germans treat him in a dull,
clumsy and brutal manner, the Frenchman
irritates you by his flippancy, his nimble,
colorless fingers and the utter absence of
poetic divination. Without Slavic blood in
your veins you may not hope to play Cho-
pin, and all Polish pianists do not under-
stand him.

Here is a list of the books on the subject
of Chopin : Frederick Chopin as a Man and
Musician, Frederick Niecks ; Chopiaand Other

213

THE GREATER CHOPIN

Musical Essays, Henry T. Finck ; Frederick
Chopin, Franz Liszt; Life and Letters of
Frederick Chopin, Moritz Karasowski; The
Works of Frederic Chopin and their Proper
Interpretation, translated from the Polish of
Jean Kleczynski by Alfred Whittingham ; Mu-
sical Studies, Franz Hueffer; George Sand,
BerthaThomas ; Letters from Majorca, Charles
Wood; Frederick Chopin, Joseph Bennett;
Histoire de ma Vie and Correspondence,
George Sand; Fr6d6ric Chopin, La Vie et
ses CEuvres, Mme. A. Audley; Les Trois
Romans de Fr^d^ric Chopin, Count Wodin-
ski ; F, Chopin, Essai de Critique Musicale, H,
Barbadette; Les Musiciens Polonais, Albert
Sowinski; Frederick Fran9ois Chopin, by
Charles Willeby, and whilst rummaging
through Scribner's large musical library I
found a tiny book called Chopin, which
proved to be extracts from George Sand's
A Winter in Majorca and familiar material.
Then there are fugitive articles almost innu-
merable, and I have read with interest John
Van Cleve's account of the talk he had with
Werner Steinbrecher, once a resident pianist
of Cincinnati, and a pupil of Chopin. We
have all met the man who knew the man
who shook the hand of Chopin. He is not
always trustworthy, but every $tone cast on

213

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

the Chopin cairn adds to its stature and
the legend grows with the years — grows
amazingly.

Then there is M. A. Szulc's Fryderyk
Szopen, which I have never seen, and if
I had, could not read. The fantastic sketcheis
of Elise Polko must not be forgotten, nor
the capital study by Louis Ehlert, the latter
being most discriminating. Consider, too,
the passing references to Chopin in the
Liszt, Mendelssohn, Hiller, Heller and Mosch-
eles letters ! That loquacious but inter-
esting gossip, De Lenz, has recorded his
experiences with Chopin, for he bore to him
a letter from Liszt. But use the critical
saltcellar in reading De Lenz. His Trois
Styles de Beethoven is neither a veracious
nor yet a sound book. De Lenz dearly
loved a pianist. He was a snob musical
in a florid state of culture, and the soul of
Thackeray would have hungered to transfix
him on the barb of his undying prose. He
was a musical tuft-hunter of huge propor-
tions and had spasms over Liszt, Karl Tausig
and Henselt. Chopin he handles rather
cautiously. The Slavic instinct in Chopin
set tinkling in his brain the little bells of
suspicion. He sensed at once the object
of the Russian's visit; he was almost vit-

214

THE GREATER CHOPIN

riolic with him and ironical when he played.
So De Lenz never forgave Chopin, he etches
him with an acid touch, and we are all the
richer for it. The unvarying treacle that he
pours over the figures of the other three
piano artists obliterates completely their out-
line. The disagreeable prompted the truth.

Unlike Frederick Niecks, I have not had
the pleasure of visiting Chopin's pupils, Ma-
dame Dubois, n6e Camille O'Meara ; Madame
Rubio, n6e Vera de Kologrivof ; Mile. Gavard ;
Madame Streicher, n6e Friederike Miiller;
Adolph Gutmann, Brinley Richards and
Lindsay Sloper. M. Mathias I knew. Niecks
met and talked about Chopin with Liszt,
Ferdinand Hiller, Franchomme, the 'cellist,
a most valuable friend ; Charles Valentine
Alkan, Stephen Heller, Edouard Wolff,
Charles Hall6, G. A. Osborne, T. Kwiatkowski,
who painted, according to Niecks, the best por-
trait of Chopin ; Prof. A. Chadzko, Leonard
Niedzwiecki, Jenny Lind Goldsmidt, A. J.
Hipkins and Dr. and Mrs. Lyschinski. Little
wonder then that Professor Niecks has given
us two books stuffed with Chopin and two
books of the greatest value to Chopin stu-
dents, because of the material collected and
sifted. That Niecks has succeeded in build-
ing up, recreating for us a veracious portrait

215

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

of his hero, I cannot truthfully say. He has
refined upon Karasowski, but the latter at
least has put the Chopin-loving world forever
in his debt. The letters of Chopin were first
published by Karasowski, and they are of the
utmost importance; genuine human docu-
ments. Chopin was not a voluble corre-
spondent. The Liszt story that he would
traverse Paris to answer a dinner invitation
may be true of his later years, but the young
Chopin was gay and wrote gay, chatty letters
to his parents and friends. What we lost by
the destruction at Warsaw of the Paris cor-
respondence we may never know. That it
would divulge much of the George Sand epi-
sode is doubtful. Chopin, while not a strict
Catholic, was a devout believer, and knowing
his mother's piety he naturally tried to
conceal the Sand affair. He would have
agreed with Mr. George Moore, that when a
Roman Catholic abandons his religion the
motive is always a woman. Notwithstanding,
the Paris- Warsaw letters might have proved a
mine of gold. The Chopin correspondence
extant has done more to expel the popular
phantom born of the vapors in Liszt's brain
than anything else. They are neither so
witty, so cultivated as Mendelssohn's, nor so
profound, rough and pessimistic as Bee«

3l6

THE GREATER CHOPIN

thoven's, nor yet so gay and natve as Mozart's
letters, they reveal a young man of exagger-
ated sensibility, of good heart, with a fine
sense of humor and of common sense. Cul-
ture, in the modern sense, Chopin had not.
His was not the intellectual temperament.
Music was for him the eternal solvent; the
threshing out of musical aesthetics, the tedi-
ous argumentations, the polemical side of his
art he never relished. He was no propagan-
dist. He disliked controversy and its breed-
ing of bad manners. Chopin was a genius,
but a gentleman. The combination is rare.
External life was for him a question of good
form, and unlike those artists who concern
themselves to the degree of madness with
questions of form and diction, only to let
loose the check reins of morals and manners
in real life, Chopin set a high price on out-
ward behavior. He broke with Liszt, as
Niecks hints, because he could not endure
Liszt's free manner of life. He could for-
give Liszt's impertinent emendations to his
ballades and mazourkas, but he never for-
gave a breach of courtesy. This is a big
hint for the Chopin hunter.

The something inexplicable to Western
imaginations in Chopin's playing and music,
which Liszt so elaborately explains with his

217

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

definition of Zal, is nothing but the hopeless
antinomy of the East and the West. The
touch of the Asiatic in Chopin, tempered by
French blood and subjected to the attrition
of Parisian drawing rooms, will never be quite
clear to us. It peeps out in his mazourkas
and in the savage splendor of his F sharp
minor polonaise. It lurks in the C sharp
minor nocturne and runs riot in the last C
minor study. It is not the febrile rage of the
Gaul nor the Berserker madness of the Teu-
ton and Anglo-Saxon. It is something in-
finitely more desperate, more despairing.
The pessimism of the East is in it, also its
languorous and scented voluptuousness. His
music, rich, exuberant, exhaling the scent
of tuberose and honeysuckle, is too over-
powering if transposed to the violin, voice or
orchestra. It is so perfectly piano music that
its very structure, as well as atmosphere, un-
dergoes a change when taken away from
that instrument. True it is that Chopin did
not think so profoundly as Beethoven, but
there are compensating clauses in his music.
Its exquisite adaptability to the medium for
which his music was created is no mean
achievement, while the merging of matter and
manner is so perfect as sometimes to put
Beethoven in the shade.

218

THE GREATER CHOPIN

The Chopin "rubato is a fetish relentlessly
worshipped by many amiable persons who
fancy that it is something sweetly and poeti-
cally immoral. It is one of the many super-
stitions that obstinately clings to the name of
Chopin. To play Bach's music with more ru-
bato and Chopin's with less would be a boon.

Walter Pater has pronounced in his essay,
The School of Giorgione, that music is the
archetype of all the arts, the final court of
appeal, that ''it is the art of music which
most completely realizes this artistic ideal,
this perfect identification of form and mat-
ter." Judged by this Chopin's music — some
of his music — is perfect. He says wonder-
ful things in a wonderful way, and in his
master eloquence his voice pierces the mist
that hangs so heavily about the base of the
Bach and Beethoven peaks. It is not always
a sonorous voice, but it is singularly fine,
sweet and penetrating. Chopin is a dreamer
of dreams and not a bard, but when the sword
leaps from the scabbard — O, the charm of
its design ! The ring of steel is the warrior's,
the voice is the voice of a man mad with
patriotic passion, the shy, feminine soul is
completely withdrawn. What a Chopin is
this! Think of the A flat polonaise, the
ones in C minor, in F sharp minor, and the

219

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

fantaisie-polonaise, with its triumphant dim*
acteric tutti ! Where have fled the tender,
confiding, morbid voices of the twilight, the
opium-haunted twilight? A man panoplied
in shining metallic armor, with closed casque,
charges the enemy and routs it, while the
song of triumph mounts deliriously to his
brains. No ! no ! Chopin is not for the mu-
sical Young Person. He can be very terrible
and mordant and he is not often tonic and
cheering.

'* It is the mistake of much popular criti-
cism," writes Pater, ** to regard poetry, music
and painting — all the various products of
art — as but translations into different lan-
guages of one and the same fixed quantity
of imaginative thought supplemented by cer-
tain technical qualities of color in painting,
of sound in music, of rhythmical words in
poetry. In this way the sensuous element
in art, and with it almost everything in art
that is essentially artistic, is made a matter
of indifference ; and a clear apprehension of
the opposite principle — that the sensuous
material of each art brings with it a special
phase of beauty, untranslatable into the forms
of any other, an order of impressions dis-
tinct in kind — is the beginning of all true
aesthetic criticism."

220

THE GREATER CHOPIN

This especially applies to Chopin. His
music may not — despite its canonic classi-
cism — conform to the standards of the art
of Bach and Beethoven, but apart from its
message its very externals are marvellous.
Delicate in linear perspective, logical in
architectonic, its color is its chief charm.
Too much has been written of the Polish ele-
ment in this music. Chopin is great despite
his nationality. His is not map music, like
Grieg's. It is Polish and something more.
He was first a musician and then a Pole. I
suspect that too much patriotism is read into
his music by impressionable writers. The
Thaddeus of Warsaw pose is dead in liter-
ature, but it has survived in all its native pul-
chritude in the biographies of Chopin. Liszt
is to blame for this in his sweet-caramel book
about Chopin, a true Liszt rhapsody, which
George Sand pronounced " un peu exub^-
rante." Let us once and for all rid ourselves of
the dawdling poseur of Liszt, and on the other
side avoid the neat, prim, rare-roast beef por-
trait drawn by Joseph Bennett. Karasowski,
in a frantic endeavor to escape Liszt's Ca-
mille of the keyboard, with his violets, his
tears and tuberculosis, created a bull-necked
athlete, who almost played Polish cricket and
had aspirations toward the prize ring.

221

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Chopin's heroism was emotional, not mus-
cular.

Jean Kleczynski's book is pedagogic and
throws little light on the tradition of Chopin's
execution. The true Chopin tradition is lost.
If he returned to-day and played in public
we would not accept him. However, he
builded better than he knew. His works are
for stronger fingers than his.

Mr. Finck is an ardent worshipper at the
shrine, and in the Willeby book, the latest of
the Chopin lives, there is nothing new and
there is much that is misleading, especially
the arbitrary and half-baked judgments. The
last ^tude of opus 25 is pronounced weak!
It really is a masterpiece among masterpieces.
Other critical blunders are not worth hag-
gling over. The greater Chopin, the new
Chopin that we Chopin idolaters believe will
endure, is not the Chopin of the valses, of
the nocturnes — interesting as they are — nor
of the tricksy, impish mazourkas. We swear
by the F minor fantasy, the barcarolle, the
F sharp minor, the fantaisie-polonaises, in-
cluding the one in E flat minor. We think
that no more inspired pages have been writ-
ten than the D minor, the F minor and the
B flat minor preludes, and are speechless
before the F minor ballade and the £ flat

223

THE GREATER CHOPIN

minor scherzo — the one in the B flat minor
sonata, and the C sharp minor scherzo.
These, only to mention a few, are the quin-
tessence of Chopinism ; the rest are popular,
banal and of historical interest only.

The real Chooin life has vet to be written,
a life that shall embrace his moral and physi-
cal natures, that will not shirk his marked
abnormalities of vision, of conduct, and will
not bow down before that agreeable fetish
of sawdust and molasses called " Fr^d^ric
Chopin," created by silly sentimentalists and
rose-leaf poets. Chopin, with all his imper-
fections full blown ; Chopin, with his con-
summate genius for giving pain as well as
taking pains ; Chopin, the wonder-worker, is
a fruitful and unexploited subject for the
devout biographer.

sa3

A LISZT fiTUDE

When Franz Liszt over fifty years ago
made some suggestions to the Erard piano
manufacturers on the score of increased sonor-
ity in their instruments, he sounded the tocsin
of realism. It had all been foreshadowed in
dementi's Gradus, and its intellectual result-
ant — the Beethoven sonata, but the material
side had not been realized. Chopin, who
sang the swan-song of idealism in surpass-
ingly sweet tones, was by nature unfitted to
wrestle with the tone-problem.

The arpeggio principle had its attractions
for the gifted Pole who used it in the most
novel combinations and dared the impossible
in extended harmonies. But the rich glow
of idealism was over it all — a glow not then
sicklied by the impertinences and affectations
of the Herz- Parisian school ; despite the mor-
bidities and occasional dandyisms of Chopin's
style he was, in the main, manly and unaf-

224

A LISZT fiTUDE

fected. Thalberg, who pushed to its limits
scale playing and made an embroidered
variant the end and not the means of piano
playing — Thalberg, aristocratic and refined,
lacked dramatic blood. With him the well-
sounding took precedence of the eternal
verities of expression. Touch, tone, tech-
nique, was his trinity of gods*

Thalberg was not the path-breaker; this
was left for that dazzling Hungarian who
flashed his scimitar at Leipsic's doors and
drove back cackling to their nests the whole
brood of old- women professors — a respect-
able crowd that swore by the letter of the
law and sniffed at the spirit. Poverty, obedi-
ence and chastity were the three obligatory
vows insisted upon by the pedants of Leipsic.
To attain this triune perfection one had to
become poor in imagination, obedient to
dull, musty precedent, and chaste of finger.
What wonder, when the dashing young fellow
from Raiding shouted his uncouth challenge
to ears plugged by the cotton of prejudice,
a wail went forth and the beginning of the
end seemed at hand. Thalberg went under;
Chopin never competed but stood a slightly
astonished spectator at the edge of the fray.
He saw his own gossamer music turned into
a weapon of offence, his polonaises were so
«S 225

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

many cleaving battle-axes and he had per-
force to confess that all this noise, this car-
nage of tone, unnerved him, disgusted him ;
Liszt was a warrior ; not he.

Schumann both by word and note did all
he could for the cause and to-day, thanks
to Franz Liszt and his followers — Tausig,
Rubinstein, d'Albert, Rosenthal, Joseffy,
and Paderewski, we can never retrace our
footsteps. Occasionally an idealist like the
unique De Pachmann astonishes us by his
marvellous play, but he is a solitary survivor
of a once powerful school, and not the rep-
resentative of an existing method. There
is no gainsaying that it was a fascinating
style and modern giants of the keyboard
might often pattern with advantage after the
rococo-isms of the idealists, but as a school
pure and simple it is of the past. We mod-
erns are eclectic as the Byzantines. We
have a craze for selection, for variety, for
adaption; hence the pianist of to-day must
include many styles in his performance, but
the foundation, the keynote of all is realism ;
a sometimes harsh realism that drives to
despair the apostles of the beautiful in music
and at times forces one to take lingering,
retrospective glances. To all is not given
the power to summon spirits from the vasty

226

A LISZT fiTUDE

deep and we have many times viewed the
mortifying spectacle of a Liszt pupil stagger-
ing about under the mantle of his master, a
world too heavy for his attenuated, artistic
frame. But the path was blazoned by the
great Magyar and we may now explore with
impunity the hitherto trackless region.

Modern piano playing differs from the
playing of fifty years ago principally in the
character of touch attack. As we all know,
the hand, forearm and upper arm are now
important factors in tone production where
formerly the finger-tips were considered the
end-all, the be-all of technique. The Vien-
nese instruments certainly influenced Mozart,
Cramer and others in their styles, just as
dementi inaugurated the most startling
reforms by writing a series of studies and
then building a piano to make them possible
of performance. With variety of touch —
tone-color — the old pearly-passage, rapid,
withal graceful school of Vienna, vanished,
for it was absorbed in the new technique.
Clementi, Beethoven, Schumann and then
Liszt forced to the utmost the orchestral
development of the piano. Sonority, power,
dynamic variety and a new manipulation of
the pedals combined with a technique that
included Bach part playing and the most

227

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

sensational pyrotechnical flights over the
keyboard ; these were some of the character-
istics of the new school. In the giddiness
produced by freely indulging in this heady
new wine from old bottles an artistic intoxi-
cation ensued that was for the time fatal to
pure scholarly interpretation. The classics
were mangled by the young vandals who
enlisted under Liszt's victorious standard.
" Color, only color, all the rest is but music "
was the motto of these bold youths who had
never heard of Paul Verlaine. But time has
mellowed them, robbed their playing of its
clangorous quality and when the last Liszt
pupil gives his last recital we may wonder at
the charges of exaggerated realism. Tem-
pered realism is now the watchword. The
flamboyancy which grew out of Tausig's
efforts to let loose the Wagnerian Valkyrie
on the keyboard has been toned down into
more sober, grateful coloring. The scarlet
vest of the romantic school has been out-
worn; the brutal brilliancies and orchestral
effects of the realists are now viewed with
mild amusement.

We are beginning to comprehend the
possibilities of the instrument and — of our-
selves. Wagner on the piano is absurd, just
as absurd as Donizetti or Rossini. A Liszt

228

A LISZT fiTUDE

operatic transcription is almost as obsolete as

a Thalberg paraphrase. Bold is the man who

plays one in public. Realism beyond a cer-
tain point in piano playing, is dangerous.

We are in a transition period. With Alkan
the old virtuoso technique ends. The new
was preached in piano music by Johannes
Brahms whose music suggests a continuation
of Beethoven's last period, with an agreeable
amalgam of Schumann and Bach. The gray
is in fashion ; red is tabooed. The drunken,
tattered gypsy who dances with bell and
cymbalum accompaniment in the Lisztian
rhapsody is just tolerated. He is too strong
for our polite nostrils. The Brahms rhap-
sodies say more; they deal not with exter-
nals but with soul states. The glitter is
absent, brilliancy is lacking but there is a
fulness of emotional life, a depth and elo-
quence of utterance that makes Liszt's tinsel
ridiculous. To this new school, not wholly
realistic yet certainly not idealistic in its
aims, is piano playing and composing drift-
ing. It may be the decadence — perhaps an
artistic Gotterdammerung.

The nuance in piano playing is ruler. The
reign of noise is past. In modern music
sonority, brilliancy is present, but the nuance
is necessary — not alone the nuance of tone

229

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

but of expression. Infinite shadings are to
be found where before were but the forte, the
piano and the mezzo forte. Joseffy taught
America the nuance just as Rubinstein re-
vealed to us the potency of tone. As Paul
Verlaine, the French poet, cried : ** Pas la
couleur rien que la nuance • • • et tout le
reste est litt^rature."

" The remembrance of his playing consoles
me for being no longer young."

This sentence, charmingly phrased as it
is charming in sentiment, could be uttered
by no other than Camille Saint-Saens. He
wrote of Liszt and,' as the natural son of the
Hungarian composer, musically speaking, he
is perhaps better qualified to speak of Liszt
than most critics ; his adoration is perfectly
excusable, for to him Liszt is the protagonist
of the school that threw off the fetters of
classical form only to hamper itself with the
extravagances of the romantic. They all
came from Berlioz ; Saint-Saens* violent pro-
test to the contrary ; only this much may be
urged in the latter*s favor: a great move-
ment like the romantic movement in music,
painting and literature appeared simultane-

ajo

A LISZT fiTUDE

ously in a half dozen places. It was in the
air, and catching. Goethe dismissed the
whole movement in his usual Jovian fashion,
saying to Eckermann : ** They all come from
Chiteaubriand/' and this is a sound criti-
cism for, in the writings of the author of
The Genius of Christianity and Atala may
be found the germ-plasm of all the artistic
disorder ; the fierce color, the bizarrerie, the
morbid extravagance, the introspective analy-
sis — which in Amiel's case amounted almost
to mania. Stendhal >yas the unwilling St.John
of the movement that captivated the powerful
imagination of Franz Liszt, as it later caused
the Orphic utterances of Richard Wagner.

Saint-Saens sets great store on Liszt's
original compositions, and I am sure when
all the brilliant, empty operatic paraphrases
and Hungarian rhapsodies are forgotten, the
true Liszt will shine more brightly. How
cheap and tinkling are these piano rhapso-
dies, and how the old bones do rattle ! We
smile at the generation that could adore
The Battle of Prague, the Herz variations
and Kalkbrenner's fantasias but the next
generation will laugh at us for tolerating
Liszt's rhapsodies when Brahms has written
three such wonderful examples. Technically
the Liszt arrangements are excellent finger

231

MEZZOTINTS IN" MODERN MUSIC

pieces. You may "show off" with them
and make much noise and a reputation for
virtuosity that would be shattered if a Bach
fugue were selected as a test. One Chopin
mazourka contains more music than all of
Liszt rhapsodies, which are but overdressed
pretenders to Magyar blood. Liszt's pomp-
ous, affected introductions, spun-out scales
and transcendental technical feats are all
foreign to the wild, native simplicity of
Hungarian folk-music.

I need not speak of Liszt's admirable tran-
scriptions of songs of Schubert, Schumann
and Franz, nor of his own original songs
nor yet of his three concertos for piano. All
these are witnesses to the man's geniality,
cleverness and charm. I wish to speak only
of the compositions for piano solo composed
by Liszt, Ferencz of Raiding, Hungaria.
Many I salute with the Eljen of patriotic
enthusiasm, and I particularly delight in
quizzing the Liszt-rhapsody fanatic as to
his knowledge of the Etudes — those wonder-
ful continuations of the Chopin Etudes —
of his acquaintance with the Annies de
Pelerinage, of the Valse Oubli^e, of the
Valse Impromptu, of the Sonnets after Pe-
trarch, of the nocturnes, of the F sharp
impromptu, of Ab-Irato — that ^tude of

233

A LISZT liTUDE

which most pianists never heard — of the
Apparitions, of the Legendes, of the Bal-
lades, of the mazourka in A major, of the
Elegies, of the Harmonies Po^tiques, of the
Concerto Patetico k la Burmeister, of many
other pieces that contain enough music to
float into glory — as Philip Hale would say
— a half dozen piano composers at this fag-
end of the century.

The eminently pianistic quality of Liszt's
original music commends it to every pianist.
Joseffy once said that the B minor sonata
was one of those compositions that played
itself, it lay so beautifully for the hand ;
and while I have not encountered many self-
playing B minor sonatas nor even many
pianists who can attack the work in a manner
commensurate with its content, I am thor-
oughly convinced of the wisdom of the great
pianist's remark. To me no work of Liszt,
with the possible exception of the studies,
is as interesting as this same fantaisie which
masquerades in H moll as a sonata. Agree-
ing with Mr. Krehbiel and Mr. Henderson,
who declare that they cannot find a trace
of a sonata in the organic structure of this
composition, and also with those who declare
this work to be an amplification of the old
obsolete form and that Liszt has simply

233

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

taken Beethoven's latest sonata period as a
starting point and made a plunge for futurity
— agreeing absolutely with these warring
factions, and thus choking off the contin-
gency of an interesting argument, I repeat
that I find the B minor sonata of Liszt most
fascinating music.

What a tremendously dramatic work it is !
It certainly stirs the blood — it is intense
and it is complex. The opening bars are
so truly Lisztian.

The gloom, the harmonic haze out of
which emerges that bold theme in octaves,
the leap from the G to the A sharp — how
Liszt has made this and the succeeding in-
tervals his own ! Power there is — sardonic
power, as in the opening phrase of the E
flat concerto which is mocking, cynical, but
tremendous. How incisively the composer
taps your consciousness in the next theme
of the sonata, with its four knocking Ds!
What follows is like a drama enacted in the
nether-world. Is there really a composer
who paints the infernal, the macabre, better
than Liszt? Berlioz had the gift, so had
Raff, so has Saint-Saens, but thin, sharp
flames hover about the brass, wood and
shrieking strings of Liszt's orchestra. The
chorale, which is usually the meat of a

234

A LISZT fiTUDE

Liszt composition, soon appears and pro*
claims the composer's religious belief in
powerful accents, and we are swept away in
conviction until after that burst in C, when
comes the insincerity of it in the following
harmonic sequences. Then it is not real
heart-whole belief, and after the faint return
of the opening motive, appears the sigh of
sentiment, of passion, of abandonment which
engenders the notion that when Liszt was
not kneeling before a crucifix, he was be-
fore a woman. He dearly loves to blend
piety and passion in the most mystically-
amorous fashion, and in this sonata with the
cantando espressivo in D, begins some lovely
music, secular in spirit, mayhap intended by
its creator for pyx and reredos.

But the rustle of silken attire is in every
bar; sensuous imagery, faint perfume of
femininity lurks in each trill and cadence.
Ah, naughty Abb6, have a care ! After all
thy chorales and tonsures, thy credos and
sackcloth, wilt thou admit the Evil One in the
{;uise of a melody and in whose chromatic
intervals lie dimpled cheek and sunny tress ;
wilt thou allow her to make away with thy
resolutions? Vade retro, Sathanas! and it is
done ; the bold utterance so triumphantly pro-
claimed at the outset is sounded with chordal

235

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

pomp and power. The hue and cry of di-
minished sevenths begins, and so this ruddy,
moving picture with its swirl of intoxicating
colors goes kaleidoscopically on. Again the
devil tempts this musical St. Anthony, this
time in octaves and in A major, and he mo-
mentarily succumbs, but that good old family
chorale is heard again and if its orthodoxy
is in spots faulty, it serves its purpose, for
the Evil One is routed and early piety breaks
forth in an alarming fugue which, like that
domestic disease, is short-winded. Anothet
flank movement of the ** ewig Weibliche,"
this time in the seductive key of B major,
made mock of by the strong man of music
who, in the stretta quasi presto, views his
early disorder with grim and contrapuntal
glee. He shakes it from him and in the
triolen of the bass, frames it as a picture to
weep or rage over.

All this leads to a prestissimo flnale of
startling splendor. Nothing more exciting
is there in the literature of the piano. It is
brilliantly captivating, and Liszt the con-
queror, Liszt the magnificent, is stamped on
every octave. What gorgeous swing and
how the very bases of the earth tremble at
the sledge-hammer blows from this cyclopean
fist! Then follow a few bars of that very

236

A LISZT fiTUDE

Beethoven-like andante, a moving return of
the early themes, and silently the first lento
descends to the subterranean depths whence
it emerged ; then a true Liszt chord-sequence
and a stillness in B major. The sonata in B
minor contains all of Liszt's strength and
weakness. It is rhapsodic, it is too long, it
is full of nobility, a drastic intellectuality
and sonorous brilliancy. To deny it a promi-
nent place in the repertory of piano music,
were folly.

It is not my intention to claim your con-
sideration for the rest of Liszt's original
compositions. In the Annies de Pelerinage,
redolent of Virgilian meadows, with soft
summer airs shimmering through every bar,
what is more delicious than the ^tude Au
Bord d'une Source ? It is exquisitely idyllic.
Surely in those years of pilgrimage Liszt
garnered much that was good and beautiful
and without the taint of the French salon
or Continental concert platform.

Away from the glare of gaslight this ex-
traordinary Hungarian patterned after the
noblest things of nature. In the atmosphere
of salons of the Papal Court and the public,
Liszt was hardly so admirable a character.

Oh, I know of certain cries calling to
heaven to witness that he was anointed of the

237

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Lord ! Pooh ! if he had not had to cut and
run to sanctuary to escape two women we
should never have heard of Liszt the Abb^ !

One penalty of genius is its pursuit by
glossaries and gibes. Liszt was no exception.
Like Maeterlinck and Ibsen, he has had many
things read into his music; mysticism not
being forgotten. Perhaps the best estimate
of him is the purely human one. He was
made up of the usual pleasing compound of
faults and virtues, as is any distinguished man,
not in a book.

The Mephisto Valse from Lenau's Faust,
in addition to its biting, broad humor and
Satanic suggestiveness, contains one of the
most voluptuous episodes outside of a score
by Wagner. That halting languorous synco-
pated, valse like theme in D flat is marvel-
lously expressive, and the poco allegretto
seems to have struck the fancy of Wagner,
who did not hesitate to appropriate from
his esteemed father-in-law when the notion
struck him.

He certainly considered Kundry Liszt-wisc
before fabricating her motif for Parsifal. In
the hands of a capable pianist the Mephisto
Valse can be made very effective. The
twelve great Etudes should be on the desk
of every student of advanced technique.

238

A LISZT fiTUDE

So should the Waldesrauschen and Gnom-
enreigen and I cailnot sufficiently praise the
three beautiful !^tudes de Concert. The
ballades and legendes are becoming favorites
at recitals. The polonaise in E, when com*
pared to the less familiar one in C minor,
seems banal. Liszt's life was a sequence of
triumphs, his sympathies were boundless, he
appreciated and even appropriated Chopin,
he unearthed Schumann's piano music, he
materially aided Wagner and discovered
Robert Franz; yet he had time for himself
and his spiritual nature was never quite sub-
merged. I wish however that he had not
manufactured the rhapsodies and the Lis7t
pupil !

«39

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

Many years ago a certain young man
of overweening ambition, with a good piano
hand and a scorn for the beaten path, con-
ceived the Gargantuan idea that by play-
ing all the Etudes written for the piano he
could arrive at perfection by a short cut and
tnus make up for lost time. He was eigh-
teen years old when he began the experiment
and at twenty-two he abandoned his task, a
crippled, a sadder, a wiser man.

The young man browsed on Etudes by
Bach, Czerny, Loeschorn, Berens, Prudent,
Ravina, Marmontel, Plants, Jensen, Von Stern-
berg, Kullak, Jadassohn, Germer, Reinecke,
Riemann, Mason, Low, Schmidt, Duvernoy,
Doering, Hiinten, Lebert and Stark, A, E.
Mullcr (caprices), Plaidy, Bruno, Zwintscher,
Klengel (canons), Raff, Heller, Bendel, Neu-
pert, Eggeling, Ehrlich, Lavall^e, Mendels-
sohn, Schumann, Rheinberger, Alkan, F^tis,

240

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

Ferd, Ries, Isador Seiss, Arthur Foote, Anton
Strelezki, Carl Baermann, Petersilyea, Krauss,
D'AbelH, Golinelli, Berger, Kalkbrenner,
Saint-Saens, Brahms, Dreyschock, Moscheles,
Doehler, Carl Heyman, Hans Seeling, dem-
enti, Thalberg, Cramer, Chopin, Sgambati,
Liszt, Hiller, Brassin, Paradies (toccata),
Hasert, Faelten, Vogt, J. C. Kessler, Mosz-
kowski, Henselt, the Scharwenkas, Rubin-
stein, Joseffy, Dupont, Herz, Kohler, Speidel^
Tausig, Schytte-Rosenthal, Von Schlozer,
Schuett, Haberbier, Nicod6, Ketten, Pixis,
Litolff, Charles Mayer, Balakireff, MacDowell,
Leopold De Meyer, Ernst Pauer, Le Couppey,
Vogrich, Deppe, Raif, Leschetizky, Nowa-
kowski, Paderewski, Barth, Zichy, Philipp,
Rosenthal and lots of names not to be
recalled.

And about the same delightful chrono-
logical order as the above was observed in
the order of study.

What could have been the result of such a
titanic struggle with such wildernesses of
notes? What could have been the result
upon the cerebral powers of the young man
after such a Brobdingnagian warfare against
muscles and marks?

Alas, there was no result. How could
there have been?

i6 241

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

And music, what became of music in all
this turmoil of technics ? Naturally it went
begging, and in after years the young man,
observing how many young people, ambi-
tious and talented, were pursuing the same
false track, determined to think the thing
out, and first went about it by asking
well-known authorities, and finally formu-
lated the question this way: What Etudes
are absolutely necessary for a mastery of
the keyboard?

Since the days of Carl Czerny — God bless
his old toccata in C ! — instruction books,
commonly known as methods, began to ap-
pear. How many I do not propose to tell
you. You all know Moscheles and F^tis,
ti*ve Kalkbrenner, the Henri Herz, Lebert and
Stark and Richardson (founded on Drey-
schock). That they have fallen into disuse
is only natural. They were for the most
part bulky, contained a large amount of use-
less material, and did not cover the ground;
often being reflections of a one-sided virtu-
osity. Then up sprang an army of Etudes.
Countless hosts of notes, marshalled into the
most fantastic figures, hurled themselves at
varying velocities and rhythms on the piano
studying world. Dire were the results.
Schools arose and camps within camps.

242

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

There were those in the land that developed
the left hand at the expense of the right and
the other way about. Trill and double-note
specialists abounded, and one could study
octaves here and ornaments there, stiffness
at Stuttgart, flabbiness with Deppe, and yet
no man could truthfully swear that his was
the rightful, the imique method.

Suddenly in this quagmire of doubt and
dumb keyboards arose a still small voice, but
the voice of a mighty man. This is what
the voice said:

" There is but one god in technic, Bach,
and Clement! is his prophet."

Thus spake Carl Tausig, and left behind
him an imperishable edition of Clementi !

It was Tausig's opinion that Clementi
and Chopin alone have provided studies
that perfectly fulfil their intention. It was
Tausig's habit to make use of them before
all others, in the school for the higher de-
velopment of piano playing of which he
was the head. He also used them himself.
Furthermore he asserted that by means of
those studies Clementi made known and ac-
cessible the entire piano literature from Bach,
who requires special study, to Beethoven,
just as Chopin and Liszt completed the scale
of dazzling virtuosity.

«43

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

The Gradus was one great barrier — a
mighty one, indeed — against the influx of
barren, mechanical or nonsensical Etudes for
the piano. Just read the incomplete list
above, and does not your head wither as a
fired scroll at the prospect of studying such
a vast array of notes ? Then came Von
Billow with his Cramer edition, and another
step was taken in the boiling down move-
ment. Moreover the clever Hans took the
reins in his hands, and practically said in his
preface to the Cramer edition : " Here is my
list; take and study it. You will then be-
come a pianist — if you have talent." Here
is his list:

Lebertand Stark — abomination of angular
desolation; Aloys Schmitt exercises, with a
touch of Heller to give flavor and flesh to
the old dry bones; Cramer (Biilow), St.
Heller, op. 46 and 47; Czerny daily exer-
cises, and the school of legato and staccato ;
Tausig's Clementi; Moscheles, op. 70; Hen-
selt, op. 2 and $, and as a bridge Haberbicr's
fitudes Poesies ; Moscheles, op. 95, charac-
teristic studies ; Chopin, ops. 10 and 25,
glorious music ; Liszt studies, Rubinstein
studies, and finally, as a " topper," C. V.
Alkan with Theodor KuUak's octave studies
on the side.

344

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

Now this list is not bad, but it is nearly
twenty-five years since it was made, and in
this quintessentializing age, a quarter of a
century means many revolutions in taste and
technic. Condense, condense is the cry, and
thereupon rose Oscar Raif, who might be
called the Richard Wagner of piano peda-
gogues, for with one wave of his wand he
would banish all Etudes, substituting in their
stead music, and music only. Pick out the
difficulties of a composition for slow practice,
said Mr. Raif, and you will save time and
wear and tear on the nerves.

Raif made a step in piano pedagogy, ni«
hilistic though it seemed, and to-day we have
those remarkable daily studies of Isidor
Phillip, which are a practical demonstration
of Raifs theory.

Then came forward a few reasoning men
who said : " Why not skeletonize the whole
system of technic, giving it in pure, powerful
but small doses to the student?" With this
idea Plaidy, Zwintscher, Mason and Mathews,
Germer, Louis Koehler and Riemann have
published volumes literally epitomizing the
technics of the piano. Dr. William Mason
in his Touch and Technic further diversifies
this bald material by making the pupil attack it
with varying touches, rhythms and velocities.

24S

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Albert R. Parsons, in his valuable Syn-
thetic Method, makes miracles of music
commonplac^a for the tender, plastic mind
of childhood. But all these, while training
the mind and muscles, do not fringe upon
the problem the young man attempted to
solve. That problem related to studies only.
His hand was supposed to be placed — in a
word — to be posed.

He incidentally found that Heinrich Ger-
mer's Technics or Mason's Touch and Tech-
nic were sufficient to form the fingers, wrist,
forearm and upper arm; that on a Virgil
clavier every technical problem of the flat
keyboard could be satisfactorily worked out,
and then arose the question: What studies
are absolutely essential to the pianist who
wishes to go to the technical boundaries of
the flat keyboard?

Technics alone would not do, for you do
not get figures that flow nor the sequence of
musical ideas, nor musical endurance, not to
mention style and phrasing. No one work
on technic blends all these requisites. Piano
studies cannot be absolutely discarded with-
out a serious loss; one loses the suavity
and simplicity of Cramer, a true pendant
of Mozart; the indispensable technics and
foundational tone and touch of Clementi, a

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THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

true forerunner of Beethoven, and then what
a loss to piano literature would be the de-
struction of the studies of Chopin, Liszt and
Rubinstein I

No ; there lurks an clement of truth in the
claims of all these worthy thinkers, experi-
menters and seekers after the truth. Our
young man, who was somewhat of an experi-
mental psychologist, knew this, and earnestly
sought for the keystone of the arch, the
arcanum of the system, and after weary years
of travail found it in Bach — great, good,
glorious, godlike Johann Sebastian Bach, in
whose music floats the past, present and
future of the tone art. Mighty Bach, who
could fashion a tiny prelude for a child's
sweet fingers, a Leonardo da Vinci among
composers, as Beethoven is their Michel
Angelo, Mozart their Raphael.

With the starting point of the first preludes
and exercises of Bach the young groper
found that he had his feet, or rather his hands,
on terra firma, and proceeded with the two
and three part inventions and the suites,
English and French, and the great forty-
eight preludes and fugues in the Well
Tempered Clavichord, not forgetting the
beautiful A minor fugue with its few bars
of prelude.

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Before the Clavichord is reached the pupil's
hand is ready for Cramer, and some of these
beautiful music pieces, many poetical in the
extreme, may be given. What could follow
Cramer more fitly than Clementi, Tausig's
Clementi? A great teacher as well as a
great virtuoso, Tausig pinned his faith to
these studies, and so does that other great
virtuoso. Bach was also Chopin's daily
bread.

In Clementi one may discern all the seeds
of modern piano music, and studying him
gives a nobility of tone, freedom of style and
a surety of finger that may be found in no
other collection. Tausig compressed Clem-
enti into twenty-nine examples, which may
with discrimination be reduced to fifteen for
practical use. The same may be said of
Billow's Cramer, not much more than half
being really necessary.

Billow's trinity of Bs — Bach, Beethoven
and Brahms — may be paralleled in the liter-
ature of piano studies by a trinity of Cs —
Cramer, Clementi and Chopin. And that
leads to the great question, How is that ugly
gap, that break, to be bridged between Clem-
enti and Chopin? Biilow attempts to supply
the bridge by a compound of Moscheles,
Henselt and Haberbier, which is obviously

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THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

tedious, and in one case — Henselt — puts
the cart before the horse.

I believe the gap can be safely crossed by
using the two very valuable Hummel con-
certos in A and B minor, for between Chopin
— the early Chopin — and Hummel there is
a certain resemblance. Some of Hummel's
passage work, for example, is singularly
like Chopin's juvenile style, and Chopin, as
everyone knows, was extremely fond of the
Hummel concertos. Of course the resem-
blance is an external one; spiritually there
is no kinship between the sleek pianist of
Weimar and the genius of Warsaw.

Yet pieces and concertos do not quite serve
the purpose, and may the Fates and Joseffy
pardon me for the blasphemy, but I fear I do
not appreciate the much vaunted Moscheles
studies. To be sure, they are fat, healthy, in-
deed, almost buxom, but they lack just a pinch
of that Attic salt which conserves Cramer
and Clementi. Understand, I do not mean
to speak irreverently of Moscheles. I think
that his G minor concerto is the greatest con-
servatory concerto ever written, and his various
Hommages for two dry pianists serve the
agreeable purpose of driving a man to politics.
I wish merely to estimate the op. 70, 95 and
5 1 from the viewpoint of a utilitarian,

249

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

There is nothing in op. 70 that has not
been done far better by contemporaries cf
the composer. For instance, the double note
study is weak when compared with that best
of all double note studies, Czerny's toccata
in C. En passant, that is one of the most
remarkable special studies ever written, and
is certainly number one in the famous trio of
double-note Etudes, the other two being the
Schumann toccata and Chopin's G sharp
minor study. Include by all means the
Czerny toccata in your list, and get the
Moszkowski edition, which is remarkable for
nothing except that it omits the celebrated
misprint at the close of the original edition.

There are studies by Kalkbrenner notice-
able for their virtuoso character. Ries, too,
has done some good work, notably the first
of the set in the Peters' edition. Then there
is Edmund Neupert His hundred daily
exercises are really original, and contain new
technical figures, and his Etudes in the
Edition Peters are charming. They suggest
Grieg, but a more virile, masterful Grieg.

Take the Thalberg studies ; how infinitely
more '* pianistic " and poetic than the re-
spectable Moscheles! I know that it is the
fashion of the day to sneer at Thalberg and
his machine-made fantaisies, but we should

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THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

not be blind to the beauties of his Art of
Singing on the Piano, his Etudes, op. 26, one
of them in C, a tremolo study, being more
useful than Gottschalk's famous Tremolo, not
forgetting the op. 45, a very pretty theme in
repeated notes.

Thalberg has written music that cannot be
passed over by any fair-minded teacher or
pupil. Another objection to Moscheles is
that he is already old-fashioned. His style
is rococo, his ornamentation trite and much of
his work stale. Study him if you will ; a half
dozen of his Etudes will suffice ; but do not
imagine that he prepares the hand for
Henselt or Chopin, as Von Biilow so fondly
fancied.

There is one man might be suggested — a
composer who is as much forgotten as
Steibelt, who wrote a Storm for the piano,
and thought that he was as good a man as
Beethoven. Have you ever heard of Joseph
Christoph Kessler?

It is difficult to discover much about him,
except that Chopin dedicated the German
edition of his preludes, op. 28, " k Monsieur
J. C. Kessler." This same Kessler was born
in Augsburg in 1800; he studied philosophy
as well as music at Vienna, and at Lemberg
in the house of his patron. Count Potocki, he

251

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

composed his op. 20, twenty-four studies,
dedicated to J. N. Hummel. Kessler was a
brilliant pianist, met Chopin at Warsaw, and
later dedicated to him his twenty-four pre-
ludes, op. 31. He was highly thought of by
Kalkbrenner, and F^tis, and Moscheles in-
corporated some of his Etudes in their Method
of Methods. In 1835 Kessler attracted
Schumann's attention, and that great critic
said that the pianist had good stuff in him.
** Mann von geist und sogar poetischem
geist," he wrote, but somehow his music fell
into disuse and is hardly ever heard. Fancy
a pianist playing a Kessler 6tude in concert,
yet that is what Franz Liszt did, and though
the studies themselves hardly warrant a con-
cert hearing, there is much that is brilliant,
effective and eminently solid in many of
them.

Kessler died at Vienna, January 13, 1872.

Let us examine more closely these studies.
In four books, published by Haslinger, they
are too bulky, besides being fingered badly.
Out of the twenty-four there are ten well
worthy of study. The rest are old-fashioned.
Book I., No. I, is in C and is a melody in
broken chords that is peculiarly trying to the
fourth finger. The stretches are modern and
the study is very useful. No. 2, in A minor,

252

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

is an excellent approach to all interlocking
figures occurring in modern piano music.
This, too, is very valuable. No. 3 I can
recommend, for it is a melody in chord skips.
No. 4 is very useful for the development of
the left hand. No. 5 is confusing on account
of hand crossing, and it could be dispensed
with, while No. 6 serves the same purpose as
No. 4. If you can play Nos. 4 and 6 of
Kessler you need not fear the C minor or C
sharp minor studies of Chopin, wherein the
left hand plays such an important part.

Book II. has a study — No. 8 — in octaves
which might be profitable but I shall not
emphasize its importance, for the Kullak
octave school should never be absent from
your piano rack. No. 10, however — a
unisono study — is very good and is a founda-
tion study for effects of this sort. It might
be practised before attacking the last move-
ment of the B flat minor sonata of Chopin.

But that about comprises all of value in
the volume. Book III. has little to commend
— a study. No. 13, same stiff, nasty figures
for alternate hands; No. 15, for the wrist,
excellent as preparation for Rubinstein's
staccato dtude, and No. 18, some Chopin-
like figuration for the right hand. Book
IV. contains but three studies: No. 20 for

253

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

left-hand culture. No. 2i for stretches and a
facile thumb, and No. 24, a very stiff study,
which is bound to strengthen the weaker
fingers of the hand. Look at these Kessler
studies, or, better still, study a dozen of them,
and you will find the bridge between Clementi
and Chopin, and a very satisfactory bridge
at that ; for to the solidity of Clementi, Kessler
has added a modern technical spirit. One
year's experiience with Kessler would make
you drop your goody-goody Moscheles, or
at least play him for the historical interest
only.

Naturally every pupil cannot be mentally
pinioned to the same round of studies.
There are many charming studies before
Cramer; for instance Heller; try Eggeling
and Riemann as preparatory to Bach, Jadas-
sohn's scholarly preludes and fugues with a
canon on every page, and in the C sharp
minor prelude and fugue you will find much
good, honest music.

Then there are lots of pretty special studies.
William Mason's £tude Romanza is a scale
study wherein music and muscle are hap-
pily blended; Schuctt's graceful fitude
Mignonne, Raff's La Fileuse, Haberbier's
poetical studies, especially the one in D;
Isador Seiss' very musical preludes, in which

254

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

the left hand plays an important part ; Ludwig
Berger's interesting studies, and a delightful
dtude of Constantin Vofi Sternberg in F, which
I heartily commend. Ravina, Jensen and
many, many others have written Etudes for
which a light wrist, facile fingers and agree-
able style are a necessity, but could all be
easily dispensed with. We must not forget a
little volume called Rhythmical Problems, by
Heinrich Germer, of great value to teacher
and pupil alike, for therein may be found a
solution of many criss-cross rhythmic difficul-
ties. Adolph Carpfe's work on Phrasing
and Accentuation in Piano Playing, attacks
the rhythmical problem in the boldest and
most practical fashion.

Works of special character, like Kullak's
Art of Touch and Ehrlich's Touch and
Technic, should be read by the enterprising
amateur.

We have now reached the boundaries of
the Chopin studies, that delightful region
where the technic-worn student discerns from
afar the glorious colors, the strangely plum-
aged birds, the exquisite sparkle of falling
waters, the odors so grateful to nostrils
forced to inhale Czerny, Clementi and Cramer.
O, what an inviting vista ! Yet it is not all
a paradise of roses; flinty is the road over

255

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

which the musical pilgrim toils, and while his
eye eagerly covets joyous sights, his feet and
fingers often bleed. But how easily that pain
is endured, for is not the Mount of Parnassus
in sight, and does not every turn of the road
disclose fresh beauties?

Some have expostulated regarding the ad-
mission of Henselt into the Pantheon of
pianists — as if we were self-constituted
keepers of its key — and the assertion was
made that Henselfs day was past, his Etudes
— of course with one exception, the Bird
Study, — useless for technical purposes, and
his music, generally rococo. There is a cer*
tain amount of unpalatable truth in all this
that jars on one, but nevertheless I refuse
to give up my belief in the Henselt Etudes
or even in the somewhat artificial and over-
laden F minor concerto.

This is an eminently realistic period in
piano literature. The brutal directness of
the epoch is mirrored in contemporary music,
and with the introduction of national color
the art is losing much of its old, well-bred
grace, elegance and aristocratic repose. Nor-
wegian, Russian, Bohemian, Finnish, Danish

256

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

peasant themes have all the vitality of peas-
ants and all their clumsiness, too. .When I
listen to this sort of music I see two stout
apple-cheeked Bauern facing each other and
jigging furiously, after the manner of tillers
of the soil. Such company seems odd and
out of place when introduced into the draw-
ing room. But with the Henselt, how differ-
ent! how much at home in palaces he is!
His refined, polished speech is never conven-
tional, nor does he tear passion to tatters,
after the approved modern manner. A high-
bred man of the world, rafHn^ a bit, blas6, but
true to the core — a poet and a musician.
No, Henselt must not go, for who may re-
place him? His gentle, elegiac nature, his
chivalry, his devotion to the loved one are
distinctively individual. His nights are
moonlit, his nightingales sing, but not in the
morbid, sultry fashion of Chopin ; even his
despair in the Verlorne Heimath is subdued.
It is the despair of a man who eats truffles
and drinks Chateau Yquem while his heart is
breaking. But there is a note of genuineness
that is lacking, say, in Mendelssohn, who
played Ariel behind many musical masks.
Henselt is never the hypocrite ; he is franker
than the Hebraic Felix, whose scherzino na-
ture peeps forth in solemn oratorio, mocking
'7 257

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

its owner's efforts at conventional worship.
Henselt is a dreamer with one eye open ; he
never quite forsakes the real for the ideal.

But what charming Etudes are in op. 2 and
op. s ! What a wealth of technical figures,
what an imperative legato is demanded ! and
then, above all else, touch, euphony! To
play Henselt with a hard, dry touch would be
Hamlet with the melancholy Dane not in it.
I remember reading in the preface to a book
by Ehrlich (some Etudes of his) that in the
modern sense a beautiful touch was a draw-
back, for while it might be ever grateful to
the ear, yet if it were not colored and modi-
fied to suit the exigencies of modern music it
would simply be a hindrance. The writer
quoted Thalberg as an example of a pianist
with a beautiful touch, but invariably the
same style of a singing touch. Liszt was
instanced as a man whose singing touch
lacked the fat, juicy cantabile quality, but
whose tonal gamut was all comprehensive,
and who could be tender, dramatic, poetic
and classic at will; of course this is the
modern ideal of piano playing — although
the color business is a bit overdone, variety
in tinting at the expense of good, solid brush
work — yet we cannot dream of Henselt
being played with a bad touch. Fancy

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THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

mangling that delicious Bird Study by a
" modern " dramatic touch ! Fancy stroking
rudely the plumage of this beautiful bird, and
have it pant its little life away in your brutal
grasp ! I have heard pianists play this ^tude
as if the bird were a roc, and they were
throttling it Sindbad fashion for its fabulous
egg. Ah, Vladimir Pachmann, how that
little bird did sing under your coaxing touch !
and how tenderly you put it away into its
silvery cage when it had trilled its sweet
pipe ! You triple locked the cage, too, black
bearded Pashaw that you were, by playing
three chords in F sharp, mounting an octave
at a time !

The Henselt studies should not precede
those of Chopin ; in fact, some of the Chopin
studies could be sandwiched in with Clementi,
Moscheles, if you study him, and Kessler.
Chopin used the Moscheles prelude. But
don't fail to study Henselt He will give you
freedom, a capacity for stretching, a sweet-
ness of style that no other writer possesses.
Don't believe that all the horde of peasants,
clumsily footing their tunes, have come to
stay. Form will prevail in the end, and
Buffon said, the style is the man. Much later
piano literature is rank, vulgar, uncultivated,
and IS altogether inferior to compositions

2«59

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

of the grand classic school. It is all
right to put the cart before the horse when
you are backing, but there is no progress in
the whole school of composerlings who trade
only in the volks tunes of their native land.
Grieg has been called the Northern Chopin.
What a far fetched simile! The Grieg
piano music was once delightfully fresh, and
it still has a quaint ring, but what a small,
restricted genre ! He said all he had to say
in his sonatas op. 7 and 8, for piano and piano
and violin. To attempt to pad his Scotch-
Scandinavian shoulders so as to fit the cloak
of the great Pole is a silly sartorial scheme.

And a superb maker of style is Chopin !
Grieg lacks style, lacks distinction — that is,
a fine style — and while I love his concerto
with its mosaic of melodies, yet I tire of the
eternal yodel, the Scandinavian triolen that
bobs up like a trade mark. His ballade in G
minor shows more technical invention than
the concerto.

What may one not say about the Chopin
studies and preludes, the vade mecum of all
good pianists who after they die go to heaven
to study with Frederic, Bach fugues and his
Etudes ! Burn every note of all other piano
literature and a mine of wealth would still

remain.

260

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

If you have a bad left hand with intract-
able fingers always remember that Bach will
individualize those fingers, and that old Carl
Czerny has written a set of studies for the
development of the left hand (op. 399),
which, if taken in moderation just after rising
in the morning, will lead to limberness and
legato. This is only a suggestive aside,
however. Albert Venino has written an
excellent Pedal School. Many improve-
ments have been made in pedaling, and
Mr. Venino has thoroughly handled his sub-
ject. Someone has called the pedal " the
breath of the piano," " its soul," which is
apposite.

For a light hand play some of Mendelssohn
scherzos, but remember that, after all, not
velocity but tonal discrimination is to be
sought for. Read Kullak*s remarks ap-
pended to the F major 6tude of Chopin, op.
10. In the Chopin preludes, op. 28, one
may discover many rich technical nuggets.
If you long for variety while at this epoch
you may dig out Theodore Doehler's fear-
fully and wonderfully made concert studies
and get a glimpse of the technic that delighted
our fathers. Interlocked chords, trills, tre-
mendous scale passages and vapid harmonies
distinguish this style.

a6i

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Great difficulties were imposed on the left
hand at times, followed by mere accompani-
ment figures, while the right hand flashed all
over the keyboard. This is found in the
Gottschalk technic, which is but a combina-
tion of the fulminating brilliancies of the
French school. Single studies about this
time might prove interesting.

Joseffy's crystalline ^tude, At the Spring,
is delightful in color and replete with exquis-
ite touches. To play it pianissimo and pres-
tissimo in a liquid, cool, caressing manner is
a triumph of technic.

Ill-fated Carl Heyman has in his Elfenspiel
given us a glimpse of his wondrous technic.
Vogrich's Staccato fitude is very effective.
Ferdinand Hiller's rhythmic studies are excel-
lent, and Carl Baermann's studies are solid,
satisfying and sincerely musical. Golinelli,
a Milan pianist, has left twelve studies which
are practically obsolete, though the octave
study is occasionally heard. In the set is
one in C sharp minor with a glorious rolling
bass, which is very effective.

Speidel has written an octave study, and
speaking of rolling basses reminds us of that
perennial favorite Die Loreley, by Hans
Seeling, a talented young Bohemian pianist
who died young (1828-62). His set of

263

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

twelve studies contain some good things
such as the Gnomentanz.

I don't know much about Dreyschock's
Etudes, except his Campanella, and some-
how or other I don't care to. You remem-
ber Heine's remark about the " hellish
spectacle" his performances presented?

Quite delightful individualities are the
Schar\venkas and Moszkowski. Xaver Schar-
wenka's preludes and studies are among the
best things he has done, the concertos not
excepted. The staccato ^tude is deservedly
popular, and the E flat minor prelude and
F sharp minor ^tude are models of their
kind. The last named is evidently suggested
by a figure in Chopin's E minor concerto,
first movement, and is well worked out
Philipp Scharwenka has also done good
work. Moszkowski's group of three studies
is quite difficult; particularly the one in
G flat. This latter smacks of artificiality.
Nicode's two studies are well made, and
Dupont's toccata in B is a very brilliant and
grateful concert piece. Sgambati, the Italian
pianist, has written some studies which are
interesting for people who like Sgambati.
They lack originality. Saint-Saens' six
Etudes are very valuable and incidentally
very difficult, the rhythm study in particular.

263

/ MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

In all this hurly-burly don't forget youi
KuUak octave school, and if you really wish
to disencumber your mind of all these extra
studies I have been talking about, just throw
overboard everybody but Bach, Cramer,
Clementi, Chopin and Henselt. If you wish
velocity coupled with lightness and supple-
ness of wrist, take up old Scarlatti.

Ill

After Wagner, Brahms. After Chopin?
Billow once confessed that Brahms cured him
of Wagner mania. To alter Browning —
" Brahms is our music maker now." Brahms,
whose music was at one time as an undeciph-
erable cryptogram ! — Brahms now appeals
to our finest culture. Without the melan-
choly tenderness of Chopin he has not alto-
gether escaped the Weltschmerz, but his
sadness is masculine, and he seldom if ever
gives way to the hysterical complainings of
the more feminine Pole. Brahms is a man,
a dignified, mentally robust man, who feels
deeply, who developed wonderful powers of
self-control, and who drives the musical nail
deeply when he hits it, as he sometimes does.

Could any styles be more at variance than
Brahms' and Chopin's? Moscheles declared

364 '

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

much of Chopin's music unplayable, and it is
a commonplace of the day to dismiss Brahms*
piano music as " unpianistic." Brahms' affin-
ity to Schumann is marked ; perhaps when
the latter pronounced such favorable judg-
ment of Brahms' op. i he only acknowledged
blood relationship. Brahms tells us different
things, however; but as I intend dealing
more with externals I will pass by any ques-
tion of musical content. To the student of
the somewhat florid Liszt, Chopin, Thalberg
and Henselt school, the Schumann-Brahms
technic must offer few attractions. Possibili-
ties for personal display are rare — display
of the glittering passage sort. Extensive
scale work is seldom found in either com-
poser, and old-fashioned ornamentation glad-
dens by its absence. Musically, the gain is
immense ; " pianistically " there is some loss.
No more of those delicate, zephyr-like figures
— no more sonorous and billowy arpeggio
sweeps over the keyboard !

In a word, the finger virtuoso's occupation
is gone, and a mental virtuosity is needed.
Heavy chordal work, arabesques that might
have been moulded by a Michel Angelo, a
cantilena that is polyphonic, not monopho-
nic ; ten voices instead of one — all this, is
it not eminently modern, and yet Bachian?

265

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Schumann came from Bach, and Schumann is
foster father to Brahms ; but Bach and Bee-
thoven blood also runs warmly in Johannes'
musical veins. Under which king will you
serve? for you cannot serve two. Will you
embrace the Scarlatti, Emanuel Bach, Mozart,
Cramer, Chopin, Liszt school, or will you
serve under the standards of Bach, Clementi,
Beethoven, Schumann and Brahms? Better
let nature decide for you, and decide she
does with such marked preferences that
often I have attended piano recitals and wept
silently because the ** piano reciter " fondly
believed he was versatile and attempted
everything from Alkan to Zarembski. What
a waste of vital force, what a waste of time !

I have, and value them as a curiosity, a
copy of Liszt's Etudes, op. i. The edition is
rare and the plates have been destroyed.
Written when Liszt was fresh from the tute-
lage of Carl Czerny, they show traces of
his schooling. They are not difficult for
fingers inured to modern methods. When I
first bought them I knew not the fitudes
d*Ex6cution Transcendentale, and when I
encountered the latter I exclaimed at Liszt's
cleverness. Never prolific in thematic inven-
tion, the great Hungarian has taken his op. i
and dressed it up in the most bewildering

266

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

technical fashion. He gave these studies
appropriate names, and even to-day they
require a tremendous technic to do them
justice. The most remarkable of the set —
the one in F minor (No. lo) — Liszt left
nameless, and like a mighty peak it rears
its head skyward, while about it cluster its
more graceful fellows, Ricordanza, Feux-
FoUets, Harmonies du Soir, Chasse Neige,
and Paysage. What a superb contribution
to piano ^tude literature is Liszt's ! These
twelve incomparable studies, the three very
effective fitudes de Concert, the Paganini
Studies, the Waldesrauschen, the Gnomen-
reigen, the Ab-Irato, the graceful Au Lac de
Wallenstadt and Au Bord d'une Source, have
they not developed tremendously the techni-
cal resources of the instrument? And to
play them one must have fingers of steel, a
brain on fire, a heart bubbling with chivalric
grace and force. What a comet-like pianist
he was, this Magyar, who swept Europe with
fire and sword, who transformed the still,
small voice of Chopin into a veritable hurri-
cane ! But we can't imagine a Liszt without
a Chopin preceding him.

Liszt lost, the piano would lose its most
dashing cavalier, and his freedom, fantasy
and fire are admirable correctives for the

267

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

stilted platitudes of the Hummel, Czerny,
Mendelssohn school. You can't — as much
as you may wish to — ignore Liszt's technic.
He got out of the piano an orchestral qual-
ity. He advanced by great wing strokes
toward perfection, and not to include Liszt
were to exclude color, sonority, richness of
tinting and powerful dynamic contrasts.

Liszt has had a great following; you can
see how much he affected modern technic.
Tausig felt his influence, and even Schu-
mann, whose setting, however, of the Paginini
Etudes is far removed from Liszt's. But
Schumann certainly struck out a very original
course when he composed his £tudes Sym-
phoniques. Here a Liszt style is a bar to
faithful interpretation. Music, music, music
is wanted, with strong singing fingers and a
wrist of iron — malleable iron. The toccata
in C is an admirable example of not only
Schumann's but also of latter day technic.

As in Brahms' polyphonic fingers, great
discrimination of tone in chord passages is
required here, and powers of stretching that
tax most hands to their utmost.

Brahms has reared upon this Schumann
technic a glorious structure, whose founda-
tions — Bach-Schumann — are certainly not
builded on sand. You may get a fair notion

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THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

of the Brahms piano technic by playing the
figure he gave Tausig for that great master's
Daily Studies, and also in his later fifty-one
studies. Look at his wonderful variations —
true studies; read the Paganini variations;
are they not heaven storming? Brains, brains
and Bach. His studies on studies are not
too entertaining.

One is the rondo by Weber in his C major
sonata, the so-called " mouvement perp^tuel."
This has Brahms transcribed for the left
hand, lifting the bass part into the treble.
Anything more dispiriting I cannot imagine.
It makes one feel as if the clock struck nine-
teen in the watches of the night. The 6tude
in sixths on Chopin's beautiful F minor ^tude
in op. 25 is an attempt to dress an exquisite
violet with a baggy suit of pepper-and-salt
clothes. It is a gauche affair altogether, and
I fancy the perpetrator was ashamed of him-
self, for, unlike Joseffy's astounding trans-
cription of Chopin's G flat ^tude, Brahms'
study upon a study is utterly unklaviermassig.

Constantin von Sternberg tells a story
about this F minor ^tude of Brahms-Chopin.
When it first appeared Moszkowski was
trying it over in the presence of the Schar-
wenkas and Von Sternberg. Not content
with playing the right hand triplets in

269

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

double-sixths, as Brahms had done, he trans«
posed them to the left hand, went to work
rather hesitatingly, saying, naturally enough :
** Why not do it this way? "

It out-Herodcd Herod, and Xaver Schar-
wenka could stand it no longer ; when Mosz-
kowski stuck for a moment he strode up to
the pianist, seized his nose and chin, opened
his mouth, gazed in it, and then said in a
slightly irritated voice : " That is the worst
of these machines; they will get out of
order sometimes."

Bendel's etude in double-sixths is a good
study, evidently modelled after Chopin's G
sharp minor study. Zarembski has written a
finger-breaker in B flat minor, and the two
Von Schloezer studies are by no means easy
studies, but there are technical heights yet to
be explored. Charles V. Alkan, the Parisian
pianist, has concocted, contrived and manu-
factured about twenty-seven studies, which
almost reach the topmost technical notch,
and are, to confess the truth, unmusical.
They are the extreme outcome of the Liszt
technic and consequently have only histori-
cal value. Don't play them, for you can't,
which remark is both Celtic and convenient

Rubinstein's op. 23 — his six Etudes — can-
not be lightly passed over. The first in F

270

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

and the well-known staccato 6tude in C should
be studied. He has also written two studies,
both in the key of C, one of which is called
Study on False Notes, and sometimes the
Handball. They are all very ** pianistic."
Strelezski's five concert studies are very mod-
ern and require a cyclopean grip. Nos. 4
and 5 are the most musical. The same com-
poser's 6tude, The Wind, is an excellent study
in unison. The valse ^tude is artificial.

You can play BalakirefTs Islamey, a fan-
tasy Orientale, if you wish some muscle
twisting.

No need of telling you of Tausig's Daily
Studies. No pianist should be without them.
The Rosenthal-Schytte studies are rich in
ideas, and Schytte has written some Vortrag
studies that are excellent.

Among modern artistic studies Siaint-
Saens', and MacDowell's are the best and
most brilliant, and Godowsky has made
some striking paraphrases of Chopin studies.
A novelty are the Exercises Journalieres
preceded by a preface from the pen of
Camilie Saint-Saens. Tausig thought of
such a comprehensive scheme as this, and
Kullak, in the third book of his octave
school, puts it partially into execution. But
it remains for Isidor Philipp to work the

271

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

formula out to its utmost, and the result la
a volume unique in the annals of piano
literature and of surpassing value to pianist,
teacher and pupil.

This volume, I have no hesitation in say-
ing, is the most significant since the posthu-
mous publication of Tausig's Daily Studies.
All pianists have felt the need of such a
work, and in his dumb-thumb way Oscar
Raif taught his pupils that the manner to
master difficulties was to walk chromatically
about the passages in question. At a blow
Philipp demolishes thousands of technical
studies.

Philipp's scheme is this: his collection is
only for pianists who have a sound ordinary
technic, say a technic which enables one to
play the Beethoven sonatas of the first and
second period, Clementi, Cramer, and of
course Bach.

Philipp begins with extensive exercises, for
extended harmonies are the keynote of
modern piano music. Then follow studies
for independence of the fingers, for the left
hand alone, for scales, arpeggios, double
notes, trills, octaves and chord playing,
rhythmic studies and sundry studies that can-
not be classified. These are all original,

and are the result of the most independent

272

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

researches. Conciseness is aimed at. They
are reinforced by examples from Alkan to
Willmers — the latter being the hero of the
trill in the annals of piano playing.

Now, suppose you have each day an hour
for technical study. You sit down before
your keyboard ; play one study for finger
extension. Here is one on the first page —
a terror, but a salutary one. Then take the
example — it is from the F sharp minor pre-
lude of Chopin. If you do not care for that
there is the peroration of the E minor con-
certo of Chopin, the trill on B natural in the
left hand. Alkan; Henselt (an example
from the first study in op. 5 in C) — you
can take your choice.

Now for independence of the fingers.
Only two examples are given. If you master
them you will have ten perfectly autonomous
fingers. One is from a study by Alkan and
the other from Saint-Saens, op. $2, This
latter is the famous study in A minor. It
is invaluable.

Studies for the left hand: one example
from the last movement of the Appassionata,
you remember the figure in F minor. Others
by Beethoven from concerto and variations.
Chopin is represented by studies and extracts
from the concertos, and a page is devoted to
18 273

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

the G sharp minor section of the Revolution-
ary study, the Tristan and Isolde episode.
Liszt» Georges Mathias, Brahms are all
quoted with judgment.

Scales: Copious quotations from Chopin,
Hummel, the A minor study of the former
has a variant which gives the left hand em-
ployment. Liszt, Henselt, Rubin3tein, the odd
little chromatic episode in the last movement
of the D minor concerto, and a finger-breaker
by Henri Fissot, in which the thumb is
treated to convict labor, as it deserves.

We have now reached the arpeggio section.
After a lot of figures from which you may
select your pattern for the day — notably the
arpeggio of the dominant seventh, the most
difficult and therefore the most valuable — you
may indulge in examples from Beethoven,
Chopin, Thalberg — the master of arpeggios
— Delaborde, Rubinstein and Saint-Saens.

Do not forget that these examples are
selected from representative works, works
that are played and are selected with rare
skill and appreciation.

The double note chapter is admirable,
although I notice M. Philipp clings to the
Chopin fingering in chromatic double notes,
the minor third, etcetera. The examples are
from Beethoven, Hummel, Weber, Cramer,

274

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

Chopin (the first chromatic scale in op. 25,
No. 6) ; Schumann, Litolff, Saint-Saens,
Liszt, Rubinstein, Delaborde, Alphonse Du-
vernoy, a valuable and ingenious study;
Marmontel, and last, but by no means
least, Philipp himself. One example of his
is from a Bach fugue in D in double sixths !

The trill department — this sounds like
the Bon March6 — contains examples from
Beethoven, Chopin, Willmers, Doehler, Liszt,
Brahms, a monstrous octave trill from the F
sharp minor sonata, Duvernoy, Czerny and
Liszt. It is as complete as possible.

The octave section contains more modern
examples than Kullak. Saint-Saens, Dim-
mer, Rimski-Korsakoff and Tschaikowsky
are some of the moderns quoted.

Then follow rhythmical examples, skips,
tremolo, a good example is from Thalberg's
beautiful and sadly neglected theme and
variations in A minor, op. 45 and a lot of
tangled tricks from the works of Lalo, D'Indy,
Bernard, Piern^ and other modern French-
men. I wish M. Philipp had quoted Thal-
berg's famous tremolo study in C. It is the
best of its class. But to be hypercritical
before this ingenious catalogue would be
impertinence, even ingratitude. From the
maddening mass of classical and latter-day

27s

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

piano literature the editor has selected and
fingered a most representative series of the
difficulties of piano music. A few bars, at
most a page, are given, and we do not
wonder that Saint-Saens called the work a
vade mecum for pianists.

Not content with his gigantic task this
astonishing Philipp has made another collec-
tion of studies for the left hand alone.

His compilation is so complete that I must
speak of it in detail. Indeed I could write
much on this topic. I know so many stu-
dents, so many able pianists who have gone
through the valley of technical death in
search of a path to Parnassus, that I hail
these short cuts with joy. Remember I am
of a band of admirable lunatics that played
all the studies in the world when I was a
young fellow! What ignorance, depraved
and colossal, was it not ?

Czerny, who is old fashioned in most of
his studies, has nevertheless written some of
the best studies for the left hand solo. He
wrote them because no one else would. He
looks in his pictures as if he might be that
sort of a man.

Philipp the indefatigable has sifted Czerny,
and the left hand is treated, not with arpeg-
giated contempt — most composers write as

276

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

if this hand was only for accompanying pur-
poses — but as if it were the companion and
co-sharer of the throne of digital indepen-
dence. All sorts — but not too many — of
preparatory exercises are there, thanks to
the ingenuity of the editor, who must be a
teacher of the first magnitude. In addition
to Czerny we get passages from Weber, right
hand passages transposed, from Mendelssohn,
Hummel, Schumann, the first page of the
great Toccata in C, transpositions from Bach
and Chopin, a big Kessler study, the first
study in C of Chopin, the first study in A
minor for the left hand — a pet idea of
Joseffy's — a transposition from the B flat
minor prelude, a capital notion for velocity
playing, another transposition of the A minor
study in op. 25, hideously difficult. The
same with the G sharp minor study, Godow-
sky has a version for concert performance,
but this is for one hand only; the double
sixth study in D flat, a Kreutzer violin ca-
price in octaves in E, a Kreutzer 6tude in
octaves, and the F minor study of Chopin,
op. 25, No. 2 in octaves.

The volume ends with a formidable version
in octaves for left hand of the last movement
of Chopin's B flat minor sonata. This is
truly a tour de force.

277

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

This clever Parisian has also written six
new concert studies. The first is a double
note arrangement of the D flat valse. Tausig.
Rosenthal and Joseffy have done the same
thing. But Philipp has written the trio in
three clefs so as to render clear the contra-
puntal figure over the melody, which figure
is the first theme. His second study is the
same valse written for the left hand, the ac-
companiment being transposed to the right.
The third study is the F minor study in trip-
lets of Chopin, most ingeniously transcribed
for left hand. Brahms turned this study into
forbidding thistles of double sixths. The
fourth study is devoted to the G flat dtude of
Chopin, the one on the black keys. It is in
double notes, fourths, sixths and octaves.
Joseffy ten years ago anticipated Philipp.

For his fifth concert study I congratulate
M. Philipp. He has taken Chopin's first A
minor .study in op. lo and turned it into a
bombarding chord study, something after the
manner of the sombre and powerful B minor
octave study. The blind octave is the tech-
nical foundation of this transcription. It is
very effective. The book closes with a mag-
nificent paraphrase of Weber's perpetual
movement from the sonata in C. Brahms
and others have transcribed this for the left

278

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

hand. It is aptly dedicated to the master, a
veritable master, Camille Saint-Saens. I
wish I could enlarge on the '* pianistic *'
qualities of this piece. Oddly enough it sug-
gests in a distant fashion Rubinstein's C
rnajor study, he one d' Albert plays so mas-
terfully. Phi pp has made the changes in
the most musicianly manner.

M. Philipp has credited to Theodore Ritter,
now dead, the octave version of the rondo of
Chopin's E minor concerto. To Tausig be-
longs the honor. I wonder why he failed to
quote the stunning 6tude in B flat minor by
Franz Bendei ? After Chopin's it is the
most valuable of all the studies for the play-
ing of double sixths.

Not satisfied with making a unique volume
of daily studies, he has out-Tausiged Tausig
in the new iStudes d'Octaves. The studies
are after Bach, Clementi, Cramer and Chopin,
with original preludes by Dubois, Delaborde,
fimile Bernard, Duvernoy, Gabriel Faur6,
Matthias, Philipp, Pugno and Widor. I ad-
vise you to play KuUak upside down before
you touch these newstudies on studies — these
towering Pelions piled on metacarpal Ossias.

Philipp begins with the E flat study of
Clementi, the one in broken octaves; this
he transforms to a repeated note exercise.

279

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

The first two studies in the Gradus he
makes octaves. So far nothing remarkable
nor difficult Then follows the B flat inven-
tion of Bach — in two voices — in octaves ;
the study in E by Cramer treated as a study
in sustained tones, like the second section of
Chopin's great octave study in B minor. We
begin to grow warm over Cramer's first fa-
mous study in C, all bedeviled into chords
and taken at the interesting metronomic
tempo of 1 16 to the quarter notes. It sounds
like a gale from Rubinstein.

As all flesh is grass, so all difficult piano
studies become food for the virtuoso. Brahms
in a moment of heavy jocundity made night
and Chopin hideous with the study in F minor
by forcing the sweet, coy, maidenly triplets
to immature coquetting with rude and crack-
ling double sixths. Philipp is too polite, too
Gallic to attempt such sport, so he gives the
^tude in unison octaves. It is a good study,
but one prefers the original.

Cramer's left hand study in D minor is
treated to octaves, and so the A minor study
of Chopin in op. lO is worked up magnifi-
cently and is really worth the while to play
as well as to practice — a distinction you will
observe. But more momentous matter fol-
lows. I expected that I should see the day

280

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

when Weber's so-called Perpetual Motion —
the rondo in C — would be played in octaves
by children, but I little dreamed of the daring
of the latter-day pianist. The tenth study
in this book is in interlocked octaves, after
the manner of Tausig, and is in the key of
B flat minor. Can you guess on what it is
built? No less a theme than the last move-
ment of the B flat minor sonata of Chopin, and
it is a presto. Tausig is reported to have said
that the movement reminded him of the
wind sighing over the grave of the beloved,
and Joseffy told me that Tausig could play
it in octaves.

Like all legends of the sort, you treasure it
and grow reverend, but when you see these
octaves on the printed page you shudder.
Where will technic end? It is worse than
Brahms in his stupendous Paganini studies.
In a study by Paderewski, The Desert, may
be found just such toying with the gigantic,
the ineffable. Philipp, with his precise, prac-
tical mind, pins his miracles to the paper,
and while we curiously study the huge wings
of this phenomenal bird we are not attracted.
The study is written for a dozen living pianists
at the utmost.

Henselt has written some studies which he
calls Master Studies for Piano. They are

281

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

really studies for virtuosi, and should be
severely left alone by any but finished pianists.
Carlyle Petersilyea once made a sort of tech-
nical variante on Chopin's study in sixths in
op. 25. Henselt goes upon the principle
that pianists grow weary of playing a piece in
the same manner; that the fingers become
indolent from the fatal facility which follows
upon many performances of a composition.
So he takes up the familiar difficulty and views
it from another rhythmical point of view.
He distorts, perverts, alters, and almost roots
up from the harmonic and rhythmic soil, the
figuration, and believes that with a new
aspect, a fresh difficulty, that you will return
refreshed in finger and mentally invigorated
to the normal version. And the great pianist
and pedagogue has accomplished his task
with a vengeance.

There are 167 examples ; some make you
shudder, some cause a smile, all command
respect for the agility of the paraphrase, the
downright cleverness of the changes. When
you have thoroughly mastered the Philipp
Daily Studies — which will be never — I com-
mend these Henselt perversions. But may
God preserve you from dallying too long
in these curious and repulsive pastures, for
can you imagine anything more horrible than

282

THE ROYAL ROAD TO PARNASSUS

a pianist assailed in the full glare of a public
performance by a Henselt version and unable
to resist the temptation !

Some of the perversions are worthy of the
consideration of a musical Lombroso. There
is the G flat study of Chopin, The Butterfly ;
Henselt has lots of fun with the piece, and
his humor peeps out at the close, for instead
of the epigrammatic ending — alas ! so sel-
dom adhered to by foolish pianists — he
makes an elaborate run and delays the end,
a delicate and satiric commentary on the
ambitious pounder who will insist on bowl-
ing all over the keyboard before he lets go
the key.

Chopin is liberally paraphrased, and the
version of the E minor valse is fit for concert
performance, so brilliant and effective is it.
There are examples from Beethoven, Henselt
— ^ he has mocked his own Bird Study — Hum-
mel, Mendelssohn, Weber, Cramer, Liszt,
Raff*, Schumann and Moscheles. Yet one
coyly suggests these studies. They are apt
to hoist the pianist with his own petard.

I once asked Rosenthal what finger exer-
cises or studies he employed to build up
that extraordinary mechanism of his. He
startled me by replying " none." Then he
explained that he picked out the difficulties of

98^

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

a composition and made new combinations of
them. Every rope has its weak spot and in
every composition there is the one difficulty
that will not down. Master it and you are
technically master of all you survey. The
whole question may be summed up this way :
study a few Cramer, a few Clementi Etudes for
elegance and endurance, avoid daily studies
except those few that by experience you dis-
cover limber up your wrist and fingers. Play
the Chopin Etudes, daily, also the preludes,
for the rest trust to God and Bach. Bach is
the bread of the pianist's life; always play
him that your musical days may be long in
the land.

VII

A NOTE ON RICHARD WAGNER

If it had been hinted a quarter of a cen-
tury ago that in Richard Wagner's veins there
flowed Semitic blood, roaring laughter would
have streaked critical Europe. The race
Wagner reviled in speech and pamphlet —
although he never disdained its financial
generosity — the hated Jew, daring to claim
kinship with him, might have set in motion
the mighty spleen of the master, and perhaps
the world would be the poorer for another
Das Judenthum in der Musik. Wagner's
hatred of the chosen race is historical. Ben-
efits ever forgotten, he never lost a chance to
gibe at Meyerbeer, to flout some wealthy
Hebrew banker. Yet gossips have been at
work subjecting the Wagnerian pedigree to
keen scrutiny. There is a well-defined le-
gend at Bayreuth, at Leipsic, that Wagner
was the natural son and not the stepson of
Ludwig Geyer, his mother's second husband.

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MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

Of course this is not so, for it would make
Wagner a half Jew, the actor Geyer being of
Jewish descent. Wagner, they say, resembled
him more in features, tastes and tempera-
ment than he did his putative father, the
worthy police magistrate.

A musical authority, whose name I with-
hold by request, called my attention to the
curious fact that the portrait of Wagner's
father does not hang upon the walls of
Wahnfried. Perhaps as Geyer was the
father Wagner best remembered he did him
the honor of placing his picture in juxtapo-
sition with his mother's in the Bayreuth
home. There is no other sound evidence
that may be pressed into service for this
fugitive theory. Friedrich Nietzsche, after
the rupture with Wagner, openly called him
a Jew born in the Judengasse — the ghetto of

Leipsic — and this latter assertion happens
to be true. Another hot-headed hunter of

degeneration, Heinrich Pudor, makes the
same statement.

In critical circles there seems to be a dis-
position to avoid challenging these facts for
they asperse the memory of a good mother.
Mr. Krehbiel laughs at the story as silly,
summoning as witness the fact that Wagner's
elder brother resembled him in a striking

286

A NOTE ON RICHARD WAGNER

manner. I place little credence in the rumor,
believing it to have originated with Nietzsche
and revived later by Pudor. There is much
in Richard Wagner's polemical writings — his
almost insane hatred of the Jews — and in
the sensuous glitter and glow of his music
that suggests the imagination of the Oriental.
Some of it is certainly unlike any music made
by a German — indeed, to me, with their
vibratile rhythms, their titanic and dramatic
characterization, the Wagner plays suggest
the Celt, for the Celt, as Matthew Arnold
wrote, has natural magic in his poetic speech,
and magical in their quality are the utterances
of Wagner.

"Was Wagner German at all?" asks
Nietzsche, a rabid hater of the Christ idea,
who first threw Schopenhauer overboard,
only to do the same for his Wagner worship.
He continues : " We have some reasons for
asking this. It is difficult to discern in him
any German trait whatsoever. Being a great
learner he has learned to imitate much that
is German — that is all. His character itself
is in opposition to what has hitherto been
regarded as German — not to speak of the
German musician! His father was a stage-
player named Geyer. A Geyer is almost an
Adler — Geyer and Adler are both names of

287

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSK

Jewish families. What has hitherto been ^ut
into circulation as the * Life of Wagner ' is
fable convenue, if not worse. I confess my
distrust of every point which rests solely on
the testimony of Wagner himself. He had
not pride enough for any truth whatsoever
about himself; nobody was less proud; he
remained, just like Victor Hugo, true to
himself even in biographical matters — he
remained a stage-phiycr."

Naturally, all that Nietzsche writes about
Wagner may be challenged, although he is
fairer to the great music-dramatist than Max
Nordau. Nordau really borrowed Nietzsche's
denunciatory thunder, and then abused the
sadly stricken philosopher for having assailed
the musician. Altogether a very Nordau-like
proceeding.

I should like to believe, but cannot, that
Schopenhauer ruined Wagner. This is one
of Nietzsche's favorite contentions. The fact
is, the artist was stronger than the philoso-
pher in Wagner. The reflective man in
him was generally overcome by the man po-
etic. Witness Tristan and Isolde, which was
composed, as Wagner confessed, in direct
defiance of his pet theories. Even the pes-
simism of the Ring never crowds out the
dramatic power of the work. Who would

288

A NOTE ON RICHARD WAGNER

wish to cut from Die Meistersinger Hans
Sachs' beautiful monologue? It is the pass-
ing of a cloud over the shining sun. All
thoughtful humans are pessimistic at times,
but the strong man and woman soon tire of
the cui bono and find work near at hand.
Wagner was caught in the currents of his
time, though he really escaped many meta-
physical vortices. That he was any more a
Christian than a Schopenhauerian at the end
of his life I doubt Wagner was primarily an
artist and, as an artist, could not help seeing
the artistic possibilities in the superb cere-
monial of the Roman Catholic Church ; could
not help feeling the magnificent story of the
Christ; could not escape being touched by
the beauties of pity, of redemption, and by the
Quietistdoctrines of Buddhismfiltered through
the hard brain of Arthur Schopenhauer. All
these elements he blended dexterously in
Parsifal, and we know with what result.

Keep in your mind that Wagner the artist
was a greater man than Wagner the vegeta-
rian, Wagner the anti-vivisectionist, Wagner
the revolutionist, the Jew hater, the foe of
Meyerbeer and Mendelssohn, and greater
than Wagner the philosopher. It is a mis-
taken partisanship that attaches to his every
word deep significance. He dearly loved
19 289

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

paradox, and his versatility was such that he
wore many masks. Not that I doubt his sin-
cerity, but the enormously emotional nature
of the man, his craving for artistic excite-
ment, his agitated life often led him to write
and speak in misleading terms. Wagner
was not a Christian; he was not a passive
Buddhist — far from it ; he was no lover of
the Jewry, and his pessimism, like Schopen-
hauer's, was thin skinned. Both men were
desperately in earnest and both enjoyed life
— one in execrating it, the other in works of
beauty.

I have often wondered where Wagner's re-
ligion, his art, his metaphysics, in a word his
working theory of life, would have led him,
had he lived longer. That he had, dimly float-
ing in his extraordinary brain, the outlines of
a greater work than Parsifal we learn in his
correspondence with Liszt. He died with the
Trilogy incomplete, for Tristan and Isolde,
Parsifal, and The Penitents, (Die Biisser)
were to have been this Trilogy of the Will
to Live, Compassion and Renunciation.

Wagner wis going to the East with many
other Old World thinkers. That negation of

290

A NOTE ON RICHARD WAGNER

the will to live, so despised by his former
admirer Nietzsche, had gripped him after he
forsook the philosophy of Feuerbach for
Schopenhauer in 1854. He eagerly absorbed
this Neo-Buddhism and at the time of his
death was fully prepared to accept its final
word, its bonze-like impassivity of the will,
and sought to translate into tone its hope-
lessly fatalistic spirit, its implacable hatred of
life in the flesh.

That the world has lost a gigantic experi-
ment may not be doubted, but that it has lost
the best of Wagner I greatly question. In
Parsifal his thematic invention is not at
its high-water mark, despite his Wonderful
mastery of technical material, the marvellous
moulding of spiritual stuff. Even if Parsifal
is almost an abstraction, is not that " howling
hermaphrodite," as Hanslick called Kundry,
a real flesh and blood creation? It is with
no fears of Wagner's power of characteriza-
tion failing that we should concern ourselves,
for the gravity of the possible situation lies
in the fact that Wagner had drifted into
the philosophical nihilism, the intellectual
quietism which is the sweet, consoling pitfall
of the thinker who wanders across the border-
line of Asiatic religious ideals. The glim-
mer of Christianity in Parsifal seems like the

291

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN. MUSIC

last expiring atom of Wagner's faith in the
value of Christ. That he used the church in
the dramatic sense cannot be doubted, and
that in the ritual of the Roman Catholic
Church he found grateful material, which he
employed so deftly yet so reverently in
Parsifal, is also incontrovertible ; but in
Wagner's Christianity I place no faith.

He went to the roots of Christianity, its
Buddhistic roots, and there sought philo-
sophical consolation. Nietzsche's attack on
Wagner's supposed religious predilections is
wide of the mark ; no one was less likely
to indulge in sacerdotal sentimentalism than
Richard of the giant brain.

The speculation is a fascinating one, espe-
cially when you remember that he changed
the title of his projected work from The
Victors (Die Sieger) to The Penitents. First
spoken of in 1856, the name was altered a
quarter of a century later. Wagner had en-
countered Oriental philosophy in the inter-
val, and its mysticism had become a vital,
integral part of his strenuous intellectual and
emotional life.

It is not safe yet to pass judgment on this
emotional product of the age ; Wagner car-
ried within his breast the precious eucharist
of genius. In music he is the true Zeit Geist

292

A NOTE ON RICHARD WAGNER

III

It was a German critic of acuity who said
of the music of Tristan and Isolde, " The
thrills relieve each other in squads." Wagner
certainly touched the top-notch of his almost
boundless imaginings in this supreme apothe-
osis of lyric ecstasy. A scorching sirocco
for the soul are the tremendous blasts of this
work. Nothing has ever been written that
is comparable with it in intensity, and it is
safe to predict that future generations will
not hear its double. Wagner declared that
when he wrote it he could not have composed
it otherwise ; it is full blown with his imper-
fections, his glaring excellences, his noble
turgidity, his lack of frugality, his economy
of resource, his dazzling prodigality, his
riotous tonal debaucheries, his soggy prolix-
ity and his superhuman fascinations.

All that may be urged against Wagner's
ways I am, perforce, compelled to acknowl-
edge. He is all that his musical enemies
say, and much more; but how wilted are
theories when in the full current of this tropi-
cal simoon ! I have steeled myself repeat-
edly when about to listen to ** Tristan and
Isolde " and summoned up aU »ny piejud?c^<<,

295

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

bade my feeble faculties perform their task
of analysis, but am breathless and vanquished
before the curtain rises.

What boots it, then, to gird critically at
an art, a devilish, demoniac art that enchants,
thrills and makes mock of all spiritual the-
ories about the divine in music? Here it is
no longer on the heights as in Beethoven's
realm. The philosophy of Schopenhauer
hurled at your head in the pessimistic dual-
ism of the famous love scene availeth not
to stem the turbulent, sensuous torrent
Tristan and Isolde is the last word, the
very deification of carnalism. Call it what
pretty titles you may, wreathe the theme
with the garlands of poetic fancy, the stark
naked fact stares at you — a strong, brutal,
fact. It is the man and the woman, noth-
ing more, nothing less. The love potion
does but unloosen their tongues, for both
were mute lovers before Brangane juggled
with the fatal brew. Not in the sacred writ-
ings of the Jews, not in Shakespeare, are
expressed such frenetic passions. The songs
of Solomon are mildly Virgilian in compari-
son. This distinction must be conferred
upon Wagner; he is the greatest poet of
passion the world has yet encountered. As
fiercely erotic as Swinburne, with Swinburne's

294

A NOTE ON RICHARD WAGNER

matchless art, he has a more eloquent, a
more potent instrument than words ; he has
the orchestra that thunders, surges and
searches out the very heart of love. A
mighty master, but a dangerous guide.

I am not an ardent admirer of all the
Wagnerian play-books. There is much that
is puerile, much that is formless, and many
scenes are too long. It was Louis Ehlert
who said that nothing but the sword would
suffice, and an heroic sword, to lop off super-
fluities. To the argument that much lovely
music is bound to be sacrificed by such a
summary proceeding, let the answer be —
sacrifice it "The play's the thing;" dra-
matic form must come first, else the whole
Wagnerian framework topples groundward.

If you consider, you will discover that
Tristan is not the protagonist of this fiery
soul drama. He accepts the potion in the
first act, gets stabbed in the second, and
tears the bandage from his wound in the
third. Isolde is the more absorbing figure.
It is her enormous passion that breaks the
barricades of knightly honor and reserve.
She it is who extinguishes the torch that
signals Tristan. She summons him with her
scarf; she meets him more than half-way;
she dares all, loses and gains all,

29s

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

She is not timid, nor does she believe in
prudent measures. Shakespeare in Juliet,
Ibsen in Hedda Gabler, never went such
lengths. I think that to Wagner must be
awarded the honor of discovering the new
woman. Isolde's key is high-pitched from
the outset. And with what superb wrath she
cries :

" Destroy this proud ship, swallow its
shattered fragments and all that dwells upon
it; the floating breath I will give you, O
winds, as a reward " ! And Wagner has
wedded this dramatic invocation to magnifi-
cent music.

The composer often, in the intense absorp-
tion of creation, forgot the existence of the
Kantean categories of space and time. It
requires strong ner\'es to sit out Tristan
and Isolde with unflagging interest; not
because it bores, but because it literally
drains you of your physical and psychical
powers. The world seems drab after this
huge draught that Wagner proffers us in
an exquisitely carved and chased chalicei but
one far too large for average human capacity*
He has raised many degrees the pitch of
passion, and this work, which I think is his
most perfect flowering, sets the key for all
future composers.

396

A NOTE ON RICHARD WAGNER

Let Nordau call us degenerates and our
geniuses mattoids, we can endure it. We
are the slaves of our age, and we adore
Wagner because he moves us, thrills and
thralls us. His may not be the most spiri-
tual art, but It is the most completely
fascinating.

397

INDEX

Abend dammert, das mondlicht

scheint, Der, 28.
Adelaide, Liszt*s transcription

of, 193.
Albert, Eugen, d*, 226, 279.

— Concertos in B minor and £
major, 52.

Alkan, Charles V., 215, 229, 240,

244, 266, 270, 273.
Alps, musical picture of, 119-

120.
Amiel, 10, 203, 231.
Antokolsky, 82.
Antonia, wife of Tscha'ikowsky,

88, 89, 91.
Apocalypse, 148.
Arenski, 83.
Ariroanes, Hall of, 120.
Armida, Garden of, iSi.
Arnold, Matthew, 22, 287.

— Description of Shelley, 205.
Astarte, 119.

Atala, 231.

Audley, Mme. G., 213.

Aus der Ohe, Adde, 87.

Bach,J. S., 3, 7,12, 21, 22,35,
54» 64, 151, 171, 195, 219,
221, 227, 229, 240, 243, 247,
248, 254, 261, 264, 266, 269,
272, 277, 279, 284.

— Best preparation for Brahms,
18.

— Harmonies of, 22.

Bach, J . S., Master of Brahms, 24.
Works:

— Chaconne, 50.

— English and French Suites,
247.

— Fugue in D, 275.

— Inventions, 247.

— Preludes and Fugues, 260.

— Variations, 35-36.

— Well-tempered Clavichord,
247.

Bach, Emanuel, 266.
Baermann, Carl, 241.

— Studies, 262.
Balakireff, 83, 241.

— Islamey, 271,
Baltimore, 195.

Balzac, remark about Chopin,

203.
Barbadette, H., 213.
Barrett-Browning, Elizabeth,

207.
Barth, 241.

Battle of Prague, the, 231.
Baudelaire, 200, 203-704, 205,

207, 210.
Bayreuth, 285, 286.
Beethoven, L. van, 3, 5, 7, 8,

II, 12,15, 20, 21,27, 29. 3o»

33» 35» 64, 97, 102, 136, 144,

M7, i49i i5i» »5*» I55» 156,
158, 166, 171, 178, 218, 319,

221, 227, 229, 243, 247, 266,

272, 274, 283, 294.

^01

INDEX

Beethoven, L.van, — Continued. \

— Anticipates Schumann and
Chopin, 58.

— Letters, 216.

— Master of Brahms, 24.
Works ;

— Adela'ide, 193.

— Appassionata, 273.

— Eroica Symphony, 137.

— Fifth Symphony, 145.

— Fugue, 48.

-r- Ninth Symphony, 148.

— Op- 34, 36.

— Scherzo, 174.

— Scherzo in Fifth Symphony,

33-

— Sonata, 222.

— Sonata in £ minor, op. 90, 27.

— Sonata in B flat (Hammer-
Klavier), op. 106, 24.

— Variations, 36.

— Variations (Thirty-two), 37.
Beggar, The (Turgenev), 99-100.
Bellini, 39.

Bendel, Franz, 240.

— Treatment of sixths, 50.

— ^tude in double-sixths, 270.

— !^tude in B flat minor, 279.
Bennett, Joseph, 213, 221.
Berens, 240.

Berger, Ludwig, studies, 241,

255.
Berlin, 145.
Berlioz, Hector, 5, 8, 12, 15, 92,

93» "35, i39» H2, H7, 158*

194, 230, 234.
Bernard, Emile, 275, 279.
Bizet, 149.

Blackburn, Vernon, 210.
Blake, William, definition of

geni;is, 201.
Borodin, 83, 85

Bortiansky, choruses revised by

Tschaikowsky, 129.
Boston, 149.
Boston Symphony Orchestra,

'49
Bralims, Johannes, i-So, 92, 97,

101, 108-109, '29, 130, 139,

144, 151, 157, 229, 241, 266,

268, 274, 278, 286.

— Admirer of Wagner, 7.

— Adversary of Wagner, 9.

— Affinities with Schumann, 12,
265, 266.

— Antagonists of, 22-23.

— Appreciation of Tschaikow-
sky, 139.

— Choice of keys, 20.

— Classicist, 3.

— Coldness of, 16.

— Color of, 6, 9.

— Compared to an architect, 5.

— Compared to Bach and Bee*
thoven, 11.

— Compared to Chopin, 58.

— Compared to Ibsen, 7.

— Compared to Paganini, 57.

— Counterpoint devices, 24.

— Economy of notes, 20.

— Enigmatic, 78.

— Erudition of, 21.

— Ehlert's estimation of, 14-15.

— Fertility of, i, 4.

— Feminine side of, 21.

— Figures of accompaniment,
20.

— Form. 2, 5, 13,

— Harmonies, 22.

— Ingenuity of, 5, 47.

— Intellectual mood, 64.

— Interpretation, 54.

— Invention, 20.

— Inversion, method of, 14.

302

INDEX

Brahms, Johannes, Irony, 32.

— Magyar spirit, 21.

— Melodies, 19, 28,

— Modes, 13.

— Modesty, 79.

— Modulation, 13.

— Nationality, 10, 59.

— Orchestration, 19.

— Pessimism, 63.

— Piano music, 8, 15, 17, 22,
75? 269.

— Rhythm, 7.

— Romanticist, 3, ii, 12.

— Sadness of, 264.

— Scherzi, compared with Cho-
pin's, 20.

— Schumann and, 12,

— Song writer, 3.

— Spitta, opinion of, 13.

— Technique of, 18, 47.

— Temperament of, 10.

— Tonalities, 13.

— Use of arpeggio, 7.

— Use of canon, 13.

— Use of chord of the sixth,

'3-

— Use of mixed scales, 20.

— Use of octave, 13.

— Use of triolen, 18.

— Vogrich's estimate of piano
pieces, 'j'j,

— Working out, 20.

— Workmanship of, 7.
Works:

— Ballades, 17, 32, 33-34.

— Capriccio in B minor, 60.

— Capriccio in C sharp minor,
62.

Capriccio in D minor, 18,
70.

— Capriccio in F sharp minor,

59.

Brahms, Johannes, Capriccio in
G minor, 68.

— Capriccio fantastic in op. 76.

63.

— Capriccios and intermezzi, 17

— Clavierstiicke, op, 76, 59-64,

— Cradle-song, 70-71.

— Concerto in B flat major, 21,

52, 53-

— Concerto in D minor, 44, 52-

— Etude after Chopin, 50, 269,

— Fantaisien, op. 116, 67.

— Fugue, op. 24, 47-48.

— German Requiem, 2, 6, 44.

— Horn trio, 19.

— Hungarian Dances, 17, 18, 51.

— Hungarian music, Brahms
studies in, 20.

— Integ nezzi, 17, 61, 62, 67,
68-69, 70, 71.

— Paganini studies, 281.

— Paganini variations, 269.

— Piano quintet, F minor, 6.

— Piano studies, 17, 18, 49-51.

— Piano trio in.B, 32,

— Rhapsodie in B minor, 15,
64-65,

— Rhapsodie in G minor, 65-66.

— Rhapsodies, 17, 59, 64, 229.

— Rondo (Weber), "mouve-
ment perp^tuel," 269.

— Scherzo, 17, 24, 29, 30.

— Sextet in B flat, 30.

— Sonata in C major, op. i, 12,
23, 24, 25.

— ' Sonata in F minor, 6, 19, 27-

28, 29-30.
-r- Sonata in F sharp minor, 18,

25-27, 275.

— Sonata from sextet in B flat,

30.

303

INDEX

Bnhms, Johannes, Songs, 31.
— > Schicksalslicd (Song of Des-
tiny), 2, 6.

— Symphonies, 19, 44, 171*

— Variations, op. 9, 31, 46-49.

— Variations, first set, 35, 36-
40.

— Variations, op. 24 (Fugue by
Handel), 47.

— Variations, op. 21, 47-48.

— Variations (Hungarian), 47.

— Variations (Paganini), 48-

49.

— Waltzer, op. 39, 17, 40, 41-

46.

— Waltzer (Love-Song), 46.

— Waltzer, op. 21, 76-77.

— Waltzer, op. 118, 72-74.

— Waltzer, op. 119, 74-75.
Brahmsianer, 44-45.
Drangane, 294.

Brassin, 241.

Browning, 11, 65, 96, 165, 264.

Bruno, 240.

Buffon, 259.

Burmeister, Richard, 191.

Burton, 201.

Byron, 95, 203.

— Manfred, 93.

Carnegie Hall, 87.

Carp£, Adolph, " Phrasing and
Accentuation of Piano-Play-
ing,' » 255.

Chadzko, A., 215.

Chateaubriand, 231.

Childe, Roland, 66, 182.

Chopin, F. F., 8, 16, 17,20, 21,
22, 3o» 39, 64, 82, 93, loi,
to8, 115, 128, 146, 148, 160-
223, 232, 241, 243, 247, 248,
249, 25»> 253, 257, 259, 264,

Chopin, F. F., — ConHnued.
265, 266, 267, 273, 274, 275,
277, 278, 279, 280.

— Adaptability of music to
piano, 218.

— Admiration c^ Weber, 193.

— Anticipaticn of Brahms, 58.

— Aristocratic nature of, 204.

— Arp^^ of, 224.

— Ballades compared with
Brahms*, 34.

— Bibliography, 212-214.

— Biography (Niecks), an.

— Coda, 182.

— Compared to Beethoven, 178.

— Compared to Childe Roland,
182.

— Compared to Poe, 196-210.

— Correspondents, 216.

— Degrading of, 163.

— Discoveries in chromatic har«
monies, 164, 208.

— Dreamer, The, 218, 219.

— Early works, 197-198.

— Editions of, 212.

— French blood of, 84,

— And George Sand, 160.

— The Greater, 162.

— Greatest works of, 173.

— Influence of, 208.

— Interpretation of, 212.

— And Kalkbrenner, 192.

— Last composition, 198.

— Manipulation of mixed scales^

— Manliness of, 224.

— Music of middle period, 15.

— Musical influences of, 195.

— Philipp*s arrangements ol|
277-281.

— Piano music of, 15*

— Pupils, 215.

304

INDEX

Chopin, F. F., Revolutionary
study, 274.

— Rubato, 219.

— On Schumann's Carneval, 194.

— Speech to Louis Philippe's
Aide-de-camp, 195.

— Temperament of, 10,

— Tempi, 183-184.

— Thalberg, meeting with, 192.

— True and untrue, 211.

— Use of chromatic scale, S^,

— Use of harmonies, 83.

— Wagnerian melody in, 164.
Works:

— Ballade in A flat, 165, 176.

— Ballade in F major, 67, 166.

— Ballade in F minor, 15, 166,
173, 222.

— Ballade in G minor, 165.

— Barcarolle, 172, 222.

— Berceuse, 15, 70, 171.

— Bolero, 172.

— Butterfly, The (G flat £tude),
283.

— Concertos, 186-192.

— Concerto in E minor, 263,

279.

— Concerto in F minor, 198.

— Etudes, 15, 164, 166-167,
232, 255-256, 260, 284.

— Etude in A flat, 75.

— i^tude in A, 277.

— £tude in A minor, op. 10,

274. 277f 278, 280.

— Etude in B minor (octave
study), 278, 280.

— I^tude in B minor, 182.

— ^tude in C, 277.

— ^tude in C minor, op. 10,
164.

— i^tude in C minor, op. 25,

167, 173*

Chopin, F. F., £tude, F major,
op. 10, 261.

— Etude, F minor, 278, 280.

— £tude, F minor, op. 25, No.

»t 5o» 77i 278.

— Etude, G flat, 278.

— £tude, G sharp minor, 250,

270.

— Etude in sixths, op. 25, 282.

— Fantasie, F minor, 15, 165,
222.

— Fantasie, op. 49, 172.

— Fantasie Impromptu, 167,180.

— Fantasie Polonaise, 164, 168,
220, 222.

— Four ballades, 165.

— Impromptus, 163, 167.

— Mazourkas, 163, 167-168,
218, 222.

— Mazourkas, op. 6, 197.

— Mazourkas, op. 7, 198.

— Mazourka, A minor, 198.

— Nocturnes, 170, 198, 222.

— Nocturne in B, 171.

— Nocturne in C sharp, 218.

— Nocturne hi C sharp minor,
170, 171.

— Nocturne in E, 171.

— Nocturne in £ flat, 163, 196^
206.

— Nocturne F minor, 13.

— Op. 2, 16.

— Op. 10 and op. 25, 244.

— Polonaises, i68.

— Polonaise, A flat, 219.

— Polonaise, C major, 197.

— Polonaise, C minor, 219.

— Polonaise, E flat minor, 222.

— Polonaise, F sharp minor,
168-170, 193, 218, 219, 222.

— Polonaise Fantasie, op. 61,
198.

305

INDEX

Chopin, F. F., Preludes, 15,
57, 162, 171-172, 251, 252,
261, 284.

— Prelude, B flat minor, 222.

— Prelude, C sharp minor, op.

45. 57.

— Prelude, D minor, 175, 222.

— Prelude, F minor, 222.

— Rondos, op. I and 5, 197.

— Scherzi, contrasted with
Drahms', 20.

— Scherzi in B minor, op. 20,

173. "79-

— Scherzi, op. 20, 173-186.

— Scherzo in B minor, 15, 28,

173-

— Scherzo in B flat minor, op.

31, 173, 176.

— Scherzo in C sharp minor, 15,
»73. 183-185, 222.

— Scherzo in E major, op. 54,

173, 175-

— Scherzo in E flat minor, 222-

223.

— Scherzo in 2d sonata, 173,
178-179.

— Scherzo in 3d sonata, 173.

— Sonata in B flat minor, 223,
272, 281.

— Trio in G minor, op. 8, 198.

— Valses, 222.

— Valse in A flat, 40, 41, 175.

— Valse in A minor, 40.

— Valse in C sharp minor, 41.

— Valse in D flat, 41, 163, 206.

— Valse in E flat, 40.

— Valse in E minor, 41, 283.

— Variations, 196.

— Variations (La Ci Darem),

17-
Chopin, Justine, 195.

Chopin, Nicholas, 195.

« Chopinisms in Tristan," 165.

Chauvinism in Russia, 85.

City of the Dreadful Night

(Thomson), 207.
Claus, Wilhelmine, 52.
Clemen ti, 163, 241, 243, 246,

248, 255, 264, 266, 272, 279.

— Reforms of, 227.

— Technics, 102.
Works :

— :^tudes, 227, 2S4.

— E flat study, 279.

— Gradus, 224.
Clemm, Maria, 200.
Clough, Arthur H., 22.
Coleridge, 185.

Conquered Worm, The (Poe),

206.
Conrad, Judge, 201.
Cramer, 227, 241, 246, 248, 249,

254, 255» 264, 266, 272, 274,

279, 283.

— Biilow edition of, 244.

— Studies in E and C, 280.

— Left-hand study in D minor,
280.

— Studies, 284.
Cui, Cesar, 83, 85.

Czerny, 240, 255, 266, 268, 275,

276, 277.
" Czerny unisons," 112.
Czerny daily exercises, 244.

— School of legato and staccato^
244.

— Toccata in C, 242, 250.

D' A BELLI, 241.
Damrosch, Walter, 87, 132.
Dante, 95, 114, 137, 15»-
Darjomisky, Alexander, S;^.
Daudet, 151.
Delaborde, 275, 279^

306

.^i^k^b^^fa^H

INDEX

De Lenz, 214, 215.

— Beethoven's Sonatas, 16.

— Chopin's remark to, 176.
De Meyer, Leopold, 241.
Deppe, 241, 243.

De Quincey, 120, 205.
Diemer, Louis, 134.
D'Indy, 275,
Divine Comedy, 148.
Doehler, Theodore, 193, 241.

— Concert studies, 261.
Donizetti, 228.

Don Quixote, 148.
Dostoiewsky, 84.
Dreyschock, 193, 241, 242.

— Campanella, 263.
Dubois, 279.
Dubois, Mme., 215.
Du Maurier, 163.
Dupont, 241.

— Toccata in B, 263.
Diisseldorf, 17.

Duvemoy, Alphonse, 27^, 279.
Dvordk, I, 5, 83, 96.

— On Tschaikowsky, 95.

— On Tschaikowsky's themes,
121.

Edward, Herder's ballad, 32.
Eggeling, 240, 254.
Eldorado (Poe), 206, 208.
Ehlert, Louis, 33, 37, 210.

— On Brahms, 11, 79-80.

— On Brahms' D minor con-
certo, 54.

— On Brahnis* Waltzer, 45.

— On Wagner, 295.
Ehrlich, 240, 258.

— "Touch and Technic," 255.
Eisner, 196.

Emerson, remark on Whitman,

II.

Empedocles, 148.
Erard piano, 224;
Essipoff, Annette, 118.
^tude Heroique, 50.
l^tudes, composers of, 240c
Eulalie (Poe), 206.

Faelten, 241.
Fairmount Park, 201.
Faur^, Gabriel, 279.
Faust, 148.
F^tis, 240, 242, 252.
Feuerbach, 291.
Field, 195.
Fielding, 78.

Finck, Henry T., ^3, 162, 213,
222.

— Antagonist of Brahms,. 22,
Fissot, Henry, 274.
Flaubert, 11, 160, 162.
Floersheim, Otto, opinion of

score of Zarathustra, 153.
Fontana, 194.
Foote, Arthur, 241.
Fortinbras, 125, 127.
Francesca da Rimini, 93, 114.
Franchomme, 215.
Franz, Robert, 129, 232, 239.

— Accompaniments to Handel,
191.

Fuller- Maitland, 29, 68, 71.

Gaboriau, 207.

Gavard, Mile., 215.

Gautier, Th^ophile, 148.

Genesis, 158.

Genius of Christianity (Chiteau*

briand), 231.
Germer, Heinrich, 240, 246.

— *• Rhythmical Problems,*'
255.

Gewandhaus, 52,

307

INDEX

Geyer, Ludwig, 285-286.
Giorgione, the School of, 219.
Giotto, 6.
Glazounow, 83.
Glinka, 83.

— Life for the Czar, 83.

— Ruslan, 83.

Godowsky, Leopold, paraphrase
of Chopin*s studies, 271.

— G sharp minor study (Cho-
pin), 277.

Goethe, 94, 95, 203.

— Remark to Eckermann, 231.
Gogol, 84, 93.

Goldsmidt, Jenny Lind, 215.
Golinelli, 241.

— Studies, 12, 262.
Gottschalk, L. &f ., 262.

— Tremolo, 251,
Gounod, 107, 120, 124, 157.

— Rom^ et Juliette, 124.
Graham, 201.

Grieg, 31, 83, 200, 221, 250,

260.
^ Scandinavian triolen of, 260.

— Ballade in G minor, 260.

— Concerto, 260.

— Sonatas, op. 7 and op. 8, 260.
Gutmann, Adolph, 215.

Haberbier, 241, 248.

— Etudes Poesies, 244.

— Studies, 254.

Hadow, on Brahms, 53-54} 67.
Hale, Philip, 118, 233.

— Verse after Pushkin, 81.
Halka (Moniuszko), 134.
Halle, Sir Charles, 215.
Hamlet, 93.

Handel, 46, 48.

-^ Additional accompaniments
to, 191.

HansUck, Eduard, 30.

— Adoration of Brahms, 9.

— Designation of Kundry, 291

— Hatred of Wagner, 9.
Hans Sachs, 289.
Hasert, 241.
Haslinger, 252.
Haunted Palace (Poe), 206.
HeddaGabler, 296.

Heine, 10, 23, 118, 129, 185, 203.

— Remark about Dreysdiock,
263.

Helen, lines to (Poe), 196, 197.

Hell-Breughel, 152.

Heller, 240, 244, 254.

Hendo'son, 233.

Henselt, 214, 241, 248, 249, 251,

257, 258, 259, 264, 265, 273,

274, 283.

— Op. 2 and op. 5, 244, 258.

— Refinement of, 257.
Works :

— Bird Study, 256, 259, 283.

— Etudes, 256, 259.

— Studies for the piano, 38 1«
283.

Hercules, 142.
Herder, 32, 71.
Herz, Henri, 241, 342.

— Variations of, 231.
Herz-Parisian School, 224.
Heyman, Carl, 241.

— Elfenspiel, 262.

Hiller, Ferdinand, 214, 215, 241.

Hipkins, J. A., 215.

Hoffmann, 152, 185.

Hogarth, 122.

Hueffer, Franz, 213.

Hugo, Victor, 288.

Hummel, 194, 195, 249, 252, 268;

274, 283.
Hummel, Cadences, 100.

308

INDEX

Hungarian folk-music, 932.
Huss, Henry Holden, 139.
Hyde, £. Francis, regarding
TsdiaTkowsky, 105-106.

Ibsbn, Henrik, 7, 11, J38, 296.

Hiad, 148.

Isolde, 395.

Isolde*s Liebestod, 164.

Jadassohn, 340.

— Canon, 354.

— Preludes and fugues, 254.
James, Henry, 205.
Jensen, 240.

— l^tudes, 355.
Job, Book of, 148.

Joseffy, 112, 226, 230, 233, 241,

2491 ^lli 278, 381.

— " At the Spring," Etude, 262.
^-> Transcription of Chopin's G

fiat ^tude, 269.
Juliet, 296.
Jurgenson Catalogue, 133.

Kalkbrbnnbr, 193, 241, 242,
250, 252.

— And Chopin, 192.

— Fantasies of, 231.

— Une Pens^e de Bellini, 194.
Karasowski, 210, 216, 221.
Keats, 203.

Keller, Robert, 30.

Kelley, Edgar, 22.

Kessler, J. C, 241, 251, 259.

— Bridge between Clementi
and Chopin, 254.

— Schumann's opinion of, 252.

— Study, 277.

*» Twenty-four studies, op. 24,

252-^54.
Ketten, 24i«

Kipling, Rudyard, 50.
Kleczynski, Jean, 213, 222.
Klengel, 240.
Klindworth, Karl, 115, 198

212,
Knox, John, 82.
Kohler, 241.
Kolner Dom, .153.
Koran, 148.
Krauss, 241.
Krehbiel, Henry E., 233, 286.

— On re-scoring Chopin ooncer*
tos, 186, 192.

— Regarding Muscovite, 82.
Kreisler, 152.

Kreutzer violin caprice in £,
277.

— Etude, 277.

Kullak, Theodore, 183, 212, 240,

a53» «75. 279-

— Art of Touch, 253.

— On Chopin's F major £tude,
261.

— Octave school, 244, 271.
Kundry, 238, 291.
Kwiatkowski, T., 215.

Lalo, 275.

Lamb, Charles, 98.

Lavall^e, 240.

Lebert and Stark, 240^ 243.

Le Couppey, 241.

Leipsic, 194, 285, 286*

Lemberg, 251.

Lenau, Faust, 238.

Leopardi, 203.

Lermontov, 93.

Leschetizky, 241.

Liadow, 43, 83.

Lbzt, 12, 17, 21, 40, 83, 93, 102,

io9i "3»i35f '39i H^i *46»
I47» M9f M2, I55> »5% "65,

309

INDEX

Liszt, — Continued.

169, 182, 189, 194, 195, 20S,
214, 216, 217, 226, 227, 228,
229, 230, 231, 233, 234, 239,
241, 243, 247, 252, 258, 265,
266, 270, 274, 275, 283, 290.

— Abb^, The, 238.

— Brahms, praise of, 24.

— Cadenza, 1 1 o-i 1 1 .

— Chorale. 234-235.

— Chopin, book on, 221.

— Improvements in pianos, 224.

— Influence on piano playing,
268.

^- Musical temptations of, 235.

— Mysticism of, 238.

— Pianistic qualities, 233.

— Pupils, 227.

— Transcription of songs, 232.
Works :

— Ab-Irato, 232, 267.

— Annies de Pfel^rinage, 232,

237.

— Apparitions, 233.

— Au Bords d'une Source, 267.

— Au Lac de Wallenstadt, 267.

— Ballades, 233.

— Chasse Neige, 267.

— Concerto in E flat, 234.

— Concerto Patetico, 233.
'— Elegies, 233.

— :^tudes, 232, 239, 244, 266,
267.

— Faust Symphony, 155.

— Feux-Follets, 267.

— Gnomenreigen, 239, 267.

— Harmonies Po^tiques, 233.

— Harmonies du Soir, 267.

— Impromptu F sharp, 232.
— ^ Legendes, 233.

— Mazourka in B minor, 233.

— Mephisto Valse, 238.

Liszt, nocturnes, 232.

— Paganini Studies, 267.

— Paysage, 267.

— Polonaises, 239,

— Rhapsodies, 51, 231-232.

— Ricordanza, 267.

— Sonata in B minor, 233-23JP.

— Sonnets after Petrarch, 232.

— Symphonic Poem, 95.

— Valse Impromptu, 232.

— Valse Oubli^e, 232.

— Waldesrauschen, 239, 267.
Litolff, 241, 275.
Loeschom, 240.
Lombroso, 283.

Low, 240.

Lydian mode, 39.

Lyschinski, Dr. and Mrs., 215.

MacDowell, Edward, 16, 241,

— Studies, 271.
Madame Bovary, 166.
Maeterlinck, 67, 207, 238.
Mallarm^, 162, 207.
Mangan, James C, 208.
Marmontel, 240, 275.

Mason, William, 240, 245, 24^

2p4.

— Etude Romanza, 254.

— "Touch and Technique,"
245, 246.

Mater Lachrymarum, 205.
Mater Suspiriorum, 205.
Mater Tenebrarum, 205.
Mathias, George, 41, 192, 193,

194. i95» 274, 279«
Matthews, 245.

Maupassant, Guy de, 204.

Mayer, Charles, 241.

Mendelssohn, 29, 30, 59, 102,
104, 115, 135, 174, 176, 214,
216, 240, 257, 268, 277, 283,

INDEX

Mendelssohn, scherzo, 261.

— Song without Words, in A
minor, 57.

Metropolitan Opera House, x 16,
149.

Meyer, Leopold de, 193.

Meyerbeer, 163, 285.

Michel Angelo, 137, 146, 347,
265.

Mikuli, 212.

Minnelied, 25.

Mo'ise fantasy, Chopin*s imita-
tion of, 193.

Mona Lisa, 166.

Monuiszko, 134.

Moore, George, 216.

Moscheles, 214, 241, 242, 248,
249, 251-254, 259, 264, 283,
294.

— Concerto in G minor, 249.
— • Hommages, 249.

— Op. 70 and op. 95, 244.
Moscow, 90.

Moscow Gazette^ 82.
Moszkowski, 102, 241, 269-270.
•— Barcarolle, 102.

— Edition of Moscheles, 250.

— Moment Musicale, 29.

— Studies, 263.
Moussorgsky, 83.
Mouvement Perpetual (from

\Veber*s sonata), 130, 269.
Mozart. 12, 20, 55, 125, 139,
148, 149, 217, 227, 246, 266.

— Ave Verum, 120.

— Escape from the Seraglio,
125.

Mozarteana (Tscha'ikowsky), op.

6t, 120.

Miiller, A. E., 240.
Murder in the Rue Morgue, The
(Poe), 207.

Music, ageing of, 2x0.
<— Limits of, 142, 144.

— Object of, 144,

— Walter Pater on, 219, 220.
Musset, Alfred de, 203.

— And George Sand, 160.

Napolxon prophesies of Rus'

sia, 81.
Nationalists in Music, 83.
Neo- Buddhism, 291.
Neo- Russia, 83.
New York Philharmonic Sod*

ety, 105.
Neupert, Edmund, 240.

— Etudes, 250.
Nicod^, 241.

— Studies, 263.

Niecks, Frederick, 168, 213.

— Biography of Chopin, 211.
Niedzwiecki, Leonard, 215.
Nietzsche, 141-158, 168, 286,

287, 288, 29T.

— Atheism of, 146.

— Dialectics of, 141.

— Philosophy, 154.

— Preferences in music, 149*

— Strauss* homage to, 145.
Nirvana, 138.

Nordau, Max, 288, 297.
Nowakowski ,241.

Omphale, 142.
Ophelia, 127.
Orchestration, Brahms', 19.

— ofChopin*sconcertos,i86, 192.

— Strauss', 19.
Osborne, G. A., 215.
Ottima (Browning), 96.
Our Ladies of Sorrow, 205.
Ouverture Solennelle (^' 1812 ">.

118, 132.

INDEX

Pachmann, Vladimir de, 167, '
259.

— Idealism of| 226.
Paderewski, 226, 241.

— The Desert, 281.

— Variations in A minor, 38.
Paganini stucUes, 39, 51.

— Variations, 48, 56.
Paradies, 241.
Paris, 196.

Parsifal, 238, 290-291, 292.
Parsons, Albert R., 246.
Pascal, 6.
Pater, Wa]ter,on music, 219, 220.

— Definition of true living, 199.
Pauer, Ernst, 241.

P^re la Chaise, 39.
Petersilyea, C, 241, 282.
Philadelphia, 201.
Philharmonic Festival, 116.
Philipp, Isidor, 241, 245, 274,
2^5, 276, 279, 280.

— Etudes for left hand, 276-277.

— ^tude d'octaves, 279.

— Studies, 271-282.
Piano :

— Action of, in Chopin's time,
183.

— Doubled bass of, 19-20, 22.

— Etudes, 240.

— Nuance in, 229-230.

— Of the past, 227.

— Orchestral development of,
227-228.

— Organ, 162.

— Playing, modern, 227, 229-
230, 258.

— Pleyel, the, 183.

— PossitHlities of the, 228.

— Realism of, 226.

— Recitals, 266.

*- Recitals, decadence of, 31.

Piano :

— Technic, 242-244*

— Viennese, 227.

— Virtuosity, 265.
Piem6, 275,
Pixis, 241.
Plaidy, 240, 245.
Plants, 240.
Plato, 19.
Pleyel piano, 183.
Poe, David, 195.

Poe, Edgar Allan, 161, 162, 185,
195.

— Aristocratic nature of, 204.

— Compared with Chopin, 196-
210.

— Euphony of, 206,

— Influence of, 207.

— Unpatriotic, 209.

— Wife of, 200.

— Women of, 205.
Poe, Elizabeth, 195.

Poet, musical and literary con*

trasted, 161.
Potocki, Count, 251.
Programmes, monotony of, 31.
Ihrogramme music, 155.
Prudent, 240.
Przybyszewsld, S., 168.
Pudor, Heinrich, 286, 287.
Pugno, 279.
Pushkin, 81, 84, 93, 131*

Radziwill, Prince, 202.
Raff, 6, 107, 136, 254.

— La Fileuse, 254.

— Lenore Symphony, 107.
Raiding, 225.

Raif, O., 241, 245.

Ranz des Vaches, ii9-i3a

Raphael, 247.

Raven, The (Poe), 206.

INDEX

Ravina, 240.

— j^tudes, 255.

Realism of Berlioz, Liszt, and

Wagner, 142.
Realism in piano-music, 226,

256.

— piano-playing, 227-228.
Reinecke, 240.
Rheinberger, 240.
Rhythm, 7, 13.
Richards, Brinley, 215.
Riciiardbon, 242.
Riemann, 147,148,240,254.
Ries, F., 241, 250.
Rimski-Korsakoff, 83, 275.
Ritter, Theodore, 279.
Riv6-King, Julie, 118.
Rodin, &2.

Romantic Movement, the, 230.
Romeo and Juliet, 93.
Rosenthal, 241, 226, 278, 283.
Rosenthal-Schytte studies, 271.
Rossini, 83, 149, 174, 228.
Rubens, 162.
Rubinstein, Anton, 6, 40, 84, 8^

92, 100, ir3, 104, 109, 128,

139, 189, 226, 230, 241, 247,

275, 280.

Works :

— C major study, 244, 279.

— Concerto in D minor, 105,
III, 274.

— Etudes, op. 23, 270-271.

— ^tude (staccato), 253.

— Melody in F, 100.
Rubinstein, Nicholas, 116, 118.
Rubio, Mme., 215.
Rummel, Franz, 116.
Russia, 81, 82, 100.

— Napoleon's prophecy of,
81.

Russian piano music, 82.

Saint-SaGns, I, 97, 107, 139
142, 158, 175, 234, 241, 3;r,
279.

— £tudes, 263, 271, 273.

— Exercises Joumali^res, 271.

— Fondness for Liszt, 230, 231.

— On Philipp's l^tudes, 276.

— Scherzo of G minor concerto

175-

— Symphonic poems (Phaeton

and Rouet d'Omphale), 142.
Salle Erard, 193.
Salvator Rosa, 170.
Sand, George, 160, 162, 213, 221

— Winter in Majorca, 213.
Sartain, John, 201.
Scarlatti, 264, 266.
Scharwenka, Xaver, 109, 241,

269, 270.

— Concerto in B flat minor, 109.

— Etudes, 263,

— Polish dance, loo-ioi.

— Prelude, E flat minor, 263,
Scharwenka, Philip, 241, 263,

269.
Schlaf sanft, mein kind, 71.
Schmidt, 240.

— Exercises, 244.
Scholtz, 212.
Schopenhauer, 146, 147, 149,

287, 289, 291, 294.
Schubert, 11, 16, 41, 129, 232.

— Momen* Musicale, 29, 43-44.
Schuett, 241.

— I^tude Mignonne, 254.
Schumann, 5, 6, 11, 12, 15, 10,

17, 19, 21, 26, 27, 36, 43, 59,
62, 64, 92, 102, no, 128, 129,
144, u^6, 148, 177, 184, 189,
194, 203, 226, 227, 229, 232,
239, 240, 283.

— Contrasted with Brahms, 25.

INDEX

Schumann, on Brahms^ 23, 24,
25, 265, 268-269.

— On Chopin, 194, 196, 210.

— On Chopin's polonaises, 209.

— On Kessler, 252.
Works :

— Abegg variations, 25.

— Albumbiatter, 37.

— Aufschwung, 62.

— Bunten Blattern, 38.

— Carneval, 42, 194.

— Davidsbiindler, Die, 43, 60,

— Etudes Paganini, 268.

— Etudes Symphonlques, 27*
268.

— Fantasy in C, 15.

— Faschingschwank aus Wien,
126.

— Pi^es Caract^ristiques, 43.

— Sonatas in F minor and F
sharp minor, 15, 26.

— Sonntags am Rhein, 29.

— Toccata, 18, 22, 25c, 268,
277.

— Variations, 35-36.
Schytte-Kosenthal, 241.
Scribner musical library, 213.
Seebold (Browning), 96.
Seeling, Hans, 241, 262.

— Gnomentanz, 263.

— Loreley, Die, 262.
Seidl, Anton, 116, 165.
Seiss, Isidor, 241.

— Preludes, 254.
Senancour, 203.

Sermon on the Mount, The, 148.
Seroff, Alexander, 83.
Sgambati, 241, 263.
Shakespeare, 95, 127, 148, 294,

296.
Shelley, 203, 205.

Siegfried. 137.

Siegfried Funeral Maidi, xja.

Siloti, 117, 131.

Silence (Poc), 162, 185-186^

209.
Sloper, Lindsay, 215.
Socrates, 19.

Solomon, Songs of, 148, 294«
Sordello, 22,
Sowinski, Albert, 213.
Speidel, 241.

— Octave study, 262.
Spinoza, 6.

Spitta, 12, 13, 35-36, 38.

Spleen (Poe), 185-186.

St. Anthony, 236.

Stassoff, v., 83.

Stcherbatcheff, 83.

Steibelt, 251.

Steinbrecher, Werner, 213.

Stendhal, 231.

Sternberg, Constantin von, 24O.

— Story about Brahms^ho
pin £tude, 269.

— Study in F, 255.
Stevenson, Robert Louis, i8a
St. Petersburg, 86, Sy, 140.

— Conservatory, 104.
Strauss, Richard, 5, 19, 94, 138,

141-159. ^

— Abnormal Inrain of, 155.

— Atheism of, 146.

— Attempts the impossibleii

M3-

— Cacaphony of, 156.

— Compared with Brahms, 157.

— Contrapuntal ingenuity of,
156.

— Hysteria of, 153, 156.

— Melodies of, 157.

— On his symphonic poenii

145-

314

INDEX

Strauss, Score of Zaiathustra,
158-159.
Works ;

— Also Sprach Zarathustra, 141 1
145-146, 149, 152-154, 155-
156, 157, 158.

— Death and Apotheosis, 143,

— Don Juan, 143, 153, 155.

— Macbeth, 143.

— Till Eulenspiegel, 143, 153,

Streicher, Mme., 215.
Sternan, 28.
Strelezki, Anton, 241.
•— Concert studies, 271.

— The Wind, 271.
Swift, 204.

SwinlMirne, 22, 207, 294.
Symphony Society, 132.
Szopen, Fryderyk, 210.
Szulc, 210, 214.

Tasso, 204.
Tatjana, 89.
Tausig, 189, 190, 191, T92, 214,

226, 227, 241, 248, 268, 278,

279, 281.

— Daily Studies, 51, 59, 269,
271.

— Edition of Clementi, 243.

— Use of studies, 243,

— Version of Cl)opin*s concer-
tos, 187-192*

Tennyson, 22, 207.
Thackeray, 214.
Thaddeus of Warsaw, 221.
Thalberg, 192, 193, 225, 241,

265, 274.
«» Clementi, 244.

— Scale Ikying of, 225.

— Studies, 250, 251.

Thalberg, Theme and Varia
tions, op. 45, 275.

— Touch of, 258.

— Tremolo study in C, 275,
Thomson, James, 207.
Tolstoy, 82, 85-86, 93, 95, look

115.

Trilby, 163.

Trilogy, 290.

Tristan, 146, 148, 157, 165, 295.

Tschaikowsky, Piotor Ilyitch, 6,
12, 16, 81-140, 84, 87, 91, 93,
96, c 7, 100, 107, 120, 127, 140,

142, 143, 146, 275.

— Calmuck in, 93.

— Compared to Brahms, 92, 95.

— Compared to Dvor&, 95, 96.

— Compared to Turgenev, 84-

85.

— Contrapuntal skill, 124, 126.

— Dislike of Brahms, 139.

— Favorite symphony, 105-106.

— Form, 135.

^1^ Love for Mozart, 120, 139.

— Love for Russia, 98.

— Manual r' Harmony, 130.
« « Moods of, 97*

-^ I.Iorbidnc3S of, 120.

— Operas, 139-140.

— Orchestral works, 119.

— Orchestration, 94, 106, 107,
no.

— Piano music, 101-103, '^»
109-112, 115^ 116-117, 128,

134.

— Resemblance to Wagner, 131-
132.

— Scoring, ingenious, 137, 138.

— Songs, 129.

— Suicide story, 140.

— Symphonies, DvoriUc's opin-
ion of, 137.

INDEX

Tschaikowsky, Tastes in music,

— Themes, 95, 106-107, '21.

— Use of flute, 94.

— Variationist, 95.

— Versatility of, 85-^6.
Works :

'—Ave Maria, 129.

— Barcarolle, 102.

— Belle au Bois Dormant, La,
op. 66, 126.

— Capriccio, Italian, op. 45,
117-118.

— Capriccio for piano, op. 8,
103.

— Choruses k capella, 87,

— Concerto for piano, op. 23,
87, 109-112.

— Concerto for piano, op. 44,
116-117.

— Concerto for piano, op. 75,

132, 133-

— Concerto for violin, op. 35,

1x4.

— Caprice D'Oksane, Le, 129.

— Casse-Noisette, 127.

— Chanson Sans Paroles, too,

lOI.

— Chanson Triste, 116.

— Dame de Pique, La, op. 68,
127.

— Don Juan, op. 38, 11 5-1 16.

— Doumka, op. 59, 120.

— Elegy for Nicholas Rubin-
stein, 118.

— Eugene Onegin, 89, 112.

— Fantasie for piano and or-
chestra, op. 56, 116, 118.

— Fille de Neige, La, 104.

— Foggy Landscape,op. 13, 105.
«— Francesca da Rimini, op. 32,

93; 104, 108, 114, 143.

Tschatkowsky, Hamlet, op. 67,
104, 108, 125, 126-127, 130,

143-

— Jeanne d'Arc, 129.

— Lac de Cygnes, Le, 109,

— Lieder, op, 57, 119.

— Magicienne ou La Charmeuse.
La, 129.

— Manfred Symphony, op. 58,
1 19-120, 143.

— Marche Slave, op. 31, 113.

— Mazeppa, 129.

— Melodies for voice, op. 73,
129.

— Messe Russe, op. 41, 116,

— Mouvement perp6tuel, 130.

— Mozarteana, op. 61, 120.

— Nocturne for piano, 132,

— Nur wer die Sehnsucht
Kennt, 94, 129.

— Overture Solonnelle, 1 18, 132.

— Overture Triomphale, 106.

— Pezzo capriccioso, op. 62,
121.

— Piano Album, op. 39, 102,
116.

— Piano compositions, 103,
109, 115, 118, 128.

— Pourquoi (Heine), 129.

— Romances and Songs for
voice, 103, 106, 113, 118,
120, 121, 126, 129.

— Rom6o et Juliette, 104, 114,

132, i33» M3-

— Russian Mass, op. 52, iiS.

— Scherzo, op. 34, 114.

— Seasons, The, 102.

— Serenade for strings, op. 4^^
118.

— Snegourotschka, 104.

— Song without Wtirds, op. 3,
103.

INDEX

fschatkowsky, Souvenir de
Florence, 127,

— Souvenir de Hapsal, 102.

— Souvenir d'un lieu triste, op.
42, 116.

— String quartets, 104, 109,

"3-

— Suites for orchestra, 87, 116,

1x8.

— First Symphony, op. 13 (G
minor), 104-105.

-—Second Symphony, op. 17
(C minor), "the Russian,"
106-107,

— Third Symphony, op. 29
(in D-major), 113.

— Fourth Symphony, op. 36
(F minor), 94, 95, 114-115,
123-126.

— Fifth Symphony, op. 64
(E minor), 94, 95, 121-123,
136.

— Sixth Symphony, op. 74
(B minor), 86, 94, 132, 134-

138-

— Tempest, op. 18, -108.

— Tscharodeika, La, 129.

— Vakoula, 106.

— Valse Caprice, 103.

— Valse-Scherzo, 103.

— Variations in F, 38, 108,
109.

— Variations, op. 19, 102.

— Variations, op, 33, 1 14.

— Winter Journey, 104-105.

— Witch of the Alps, 119.

— Yolande, 127.
Turgenev, 84-85, 94, 100,

— On Russia, 98.

— The Beggar, 99, 100.

Ulalume (Poe), 198-199, I

Valkyrie, 228.

Van Cleve, John, 213.

Van Der Stucken, Frank, 108.

Variations, 35-36, 38, 108-109^

Venino, Albert, 261,

Verdi, i.

Verlaine, Paul, 207, 227, 230.

Verstohlen geht der Mond, 25.

Viardot, Louis, 192.

Vienna, 251.

Vinci, Leonardo da, 247,

Virgil, 114,

Virgil clavier, 246.

Vogel der heut' sang, Dem, 29.

Vogrich, Max, 51, 241.

— On Brahms' cradle-song, 70,

— On playing Brahms, 76-77.

— Staccato 6tudes, 262.
Vogt, 241.

Von Billow, 109, 212, 251, 264.

— Edition of Cramer, 244.

— List of 6tudes, 244.

— Playing of Brahms Sonata in
C, 24.

— " Three B's," 11,248,
Von Schlozer, 241,

— Etudes, 270,
Votinsk, Sy.
Voy6vode, 130, 132,

Wagner, Richard, 3, 7, 8,
9, 12, 20, 82, 126, 13^-132,
139, 146, 153, 155, 158, 164,
165, 188, 195, 208, 228, 231,
238, 239, 245, 264, 285-297,

— As artist, 288-290.

— Christianity of, 289, 291*
292.

— Contrasted with Brahms, 9.

— - Fascination of Wagner's mu»

sic, 297.

INDEX

Wagner, Richard, Hatred of
Jews, 285.

— Jewish descent of, 285-286,
287-288.

^Judenthum in der Musik,
Das, 285.

— Philosophy of, 289, 292.

— Poet of passion, 294, 296.

— Temperament of, 10.

•— Theatrical tendency of, lo.
— > Turn, idealizes the, 7, 19.

— Die Busser (The Penitents),
290.

^Die Sieger (The Victors),

292.
^ Die Walkiire, 157, 164.
^£ine Faust Overture, 126,

155, 156.

— Meistersinger, Die, 29, 157,
188, 289.

— Rmg, The, 146, 164, 195,
288.

— Tristan and Isolde, 145, 162,
274, 288, 290, 293-294, 296.

Wahnfried, 286.

Wallner, 140.

Warsaw, 249, 252.

Warum sind denn die Rosen so

Blass, 129,
Washington Hospital, 195.

Weber, 16, 83, 176, 193, 274,
277, 283.

— Rondo (Perpetual Motion),
50, 130, 269, 278, 281,

— Sonata in C major, 150, 269b
Weimar, 23, 249.
Well-Tempered Clavichocd, 247.
Whistler, 162.

Whitman, £merson*s remark

on, II.
Whittingham, Alfred, 213.
Widor, 279.

Willeby, Charles, 213, 222.
Waiis, N. P., 201.
Willmers, 273, 275.
Wodinski, Count, 213.
Wolff, Edouard, 215.
Women playing Chopin, 170*

171.
Wood, Charles, 213.
Wordsworth, 205.
Wotan, 1 64.

ZXl, 209, 218.
Zarembski, 266.

— B flat minor ^de^ 2701
Zichy, 241.
Zimmermann, 193.
Zelazowa-Wola, 195.
Zwintscher, 245.

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